• 


I  HAVE    FELT    IT    IN    THE    TREMBLE    OF    HIS    HAND  AS    HIS    DARK    EYE 
MET  MINE. 

Page  18. 


HER    PLAYTHINGS, 

MEN 


NOI/EL 


BY 

MABEL   ESMONDE   CAHILL 


NEW   YORK 

WORTHINGTON   CO.,  747   BROADWAY 
1801 


COPYRIGHT,  1891,  BY 
WORTHINGTON  CO. 


Press  of  J.  J.   Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


CHAPTEE   I. 

IN    LINCOLN    GREEN. 

Let  me  carry  your  thoughts,  Reader,  to  a  woodland 
scene  in  the  heart  of  England,  where,  but  a  few  years 
ago  the  royal  oaks  stretched  far  above,  and  the  mossy 
green  sward  was  soft  to  the  horse's  hoofs  which  trampled 
it;  where  the  mottled  lizard  and  the  glittering  adder 
glided  in  and  out  of  the  tangled  underbrush  of  rhodo- 
dendron and  sweet  briar;  where  the  lovely  coltsfoot  and 
the  waving  pines  mingled  their  perfumes  in  early  Spring, 
whilst  above,  in  the  wind-swung  branches  the  gentle 
wood  pigeon  cooed  her  soft  love  tale  to  her  mate.  There 
on  a  dewy  morning  in  the  Spring  of  188—,  four  days 
prior  to  the  great  race  meeting  of  Darcliffe,  we  might 
have  seen  galloping  over  the  springy  turf  two  proud 
crested  animals,  the  one  bestridden  by  a  young  man  of 
some  twenty-two  summers,  the  other,  riderless,  but  bear- 
ing upon  his  glossy  shoulder  the  trappings  for  a  lady's 
use.  This  and  much  more  yet  could  we  have  seen  as 
onward  dashed  that  bold,  reckless  young  rider,  looking 
not  back  to  yesterday's  peaceful  hours,  looking  not  for- 
ward to  the  dark  possibilities  of  to-morrow. 

Onward  he  dashed  with  the  lady's  charger  by  his 
side,  until  the  park  lands  of  Darcliffe  had  been  left  far 
to  the  rear,  until  fields  of  stubble  had  been  galloped 
over  and  their  neat  hedgerows  crossed,  until  at  last 
arrived  at  the  grand,  old  ivied  wall  marking  the  bound- 


4  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

ary  between  the  equally  important  estates,  attached  re- 
spectively to  Darcliife  Castle  and  Cumberwold  Abbey, 
when  the  panting  steeds  were  suffered  to  draw  breath. 

A  long,  low  rambling  wall  this  was,  with  its  ivy  crested 
buttresses,  its  massive  earthworks,  meant  to  withstand 
the  ravages  of  centuries  ;  full  of  weird  memories  for  the 
little  unkempt  rogues  of  long  gone  generations,  who  had 
so  often  climbed  its  ledges  to  nud  where  the  wood-birds 
loved  to  build  their  nests  in  early  Spring ;  full  of  vague 
terrors  for  the  timid  little  girls  who  ofttimes  wove  the 
daisies  and  kingcups  into  fantastic  chains  beneath  its 
cooling  shade. 

And  now,  as  the  young  horseman  reined  in  amid  a 
cluster  of  poplars  fringing  the  boundary  wall,  a  low, 
clear  whistle  broke  upon  the  still  air  and  an  arrow  shot 
up  against  the  blue  sky.  A  pretty  little  arrow  this,  shot 
from  a  lady's  archery  bow,  feather  tipped  and  fleet  to  do 
its  mistress'  bidding,  as,  bearing  on  its  sharp  point  a 
note,  it  landed  at  the  young  man's  feet.  A  note,  the 
opening  of  which  caused  the  young  man's  cheek  to 
blanch  and  his  hand  to  tremble,  whilst  having  read  it 
and  re-read  it  apparently  to  his  satisfaction,  he  pro- 
ceeded— with  the  delightful  idiocy  of  his  twenty-two 
summers— to  crush  it  many  times  against  his  lips. 

Blind  mortal,  who  cannot  pierce  the  impenetrable 
stretches  of  futurity,  could  you  but  understand  that  in 
the  note  you  hold  there  is  contained  a  message  pregnant 
for  you  with  subtlest  poison,  such  as  in  the  unknown 
to-morrow  will  blight  your  manhood's  sweetest  hours, 
leaving  you  naught  but  ashes  and  dead  sea  fruit  behind, 
your  cheek  would  blanch,  but  from  a  different  motive  to 
that  which  prompted  it  but  a  moment  ago  to  grow  more 


IN  LINCOLN'  GREEN.  5 

deadly  white  than  the  drifting  clouds  above  you.  But 
the  young  mau  thought  not  of  to-morrow,  as  he  sprang 
towards  a  buttress  of  the  old  ivied  wall  and  waited, — yea 
waited  for  what  possibilities  that  ll  to-morrow"  held  for 
him. 

Not  long  had  he  waited  ere  there  sprang  into  view  from 
above  the  figure  of  a  young  girl  in  the  first  blush  of  lovely 
womanhood,  with  form  and  face  fresh  and  voluptuous  as 
the  bursting  rose-bud  culled  from  its  parent  stem  but  a 
moment  back.  Especially  lovely  this  young  wood-nymph 
looked  in  her  riding  habit  of  darkest  green,  which  by  its 
perfect  make  betrayed  the  rounded  curves  of  a  generous 
figure,  whilst,  with  a  rippling  laugh  as  full  of  soft  music 
as  the  tinkling  of  goat-bells  amongst  the  Alpine  gorges, 
she  sprang  from  her  vantage  ground  into  the  readily 
extended  arms  of  the  young  man.  A  passionately  linger- 
ing kiss,  and  a  little  cry,  a  few  tender  greetings,  eyes 
looking  into  answering  eyes,  and  then  these  young  people 
turned  to  where  the  horses  stood  trampling  the  mossy 
sward  in  a  corner  of  the  fragrant  pine- woods. 

It  took  them  but  a  very  short  time  to  get  settled  once 
more  in  their  saddles,  and  in  a  moment  more  they  were 
riding  onward  together,  to  ruin  and  to  heart  break,  such 
as  seldom  engulfs  years  so  tender  as  theirs. 


HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    LIFE'S    WRECK. 

A  trial  race.  The  grooms  and  jockeys,  scattered  here 
and  there  in  groups  of  twos  and  threes,  admire  Lady 
Adelaide  Heathmore,  the  dashing  young  heiress  of 
Cumberwold  Abbey,  as  she  canters  leisurely  towards  the 
course. 

"She's  goin'  to  ride  the  race  on  JBlackwater.  I'm 
d if  she's  not  a  rare  plucked  un  !  " 

"See  her  go!  My  eye!  What  a  jock  she'd  make! 
Steady  as  a  rock  over  the  hurdle  ! " 

"  She'll  do  ;  and  if  she  was  to  ride  in  the  big  race  I'd 
back  her ! " 

Such  were  the  enthusiastic  comments  uttered  within 
earshot  of  our  lovely  wayward  heiress;  comments  that, 
for  all  her  wealth  and  high -breeding,  brought  a  keener 
tinge  of  pleasure  to  her  cheek  than  did  in  after  life  the 
subtlest  flatteries  of  the  many  princes  of  Europe  who 
kneeled  before  her  beauty. 

But  though  this  Diana  seemed  an  object  for  their  un- 
limited adoration,  still  amongst  the  jockeys  "the  favor- 
ite" was  "the  favorite,"  and  he  was  carrying  Rutland 
Borradale  quietly  down  towards  the  starting  point. 

"  So  I  am  going  to  ride  a  genuine  race !  "  said  Lady 
Adelaide  enthusiastically  to  her  companion.  "  I  wish  I 
were  a  jockey,  but,  Rutland  dear,  what  is  the  betting 
to  be?" 

The  young  man  bent  low  in  his  saddle  until  his  lips 


A   LIFE'S    WRECK.  < 

almost  brushed  her  loose  flying  hair,  and  whispered 
some  words  that  made  her  blood  rush  to  her  velvety 
cheek. 

"  Be  it  so,"  she  says  with  a  ripple  of  laughter  and  a 
toss  of  the  proudly  turned  head. 

"  So  that  is  why  you  are  mounted  on  the  favorite,  is 
it  ?  Well  you  shall  not  win  if  I  can  prevent  it." 

Eutland  had  not  been  fearful  of  trusting  the  great 
racer  of  his  uncle's  stable  to  his  fair  companion,  whose 
hands  on  horseback  were  sympathetic,  and  whose  riding 
was  very  perfect  and  finished,  but  he  had  had  his  own 
views  with  regard  to  winning  this  race,  and  they  were 
very  dear  to  him,  so  he  smiled  at  the  toss  of  the  proud 
girlish  head,  but  said  no  more. 

One,  two,  three,  and  they  urge  their  horses  to  a  racing 
speed  along  the  resounding  turf,  Blackwater  leading, 
Blackbriar,  the  favorite,  second,  as  they  clear  the  first 
and  third  hurdles.  Blackwater,  although  esteemed  the 
better  horse  by  most  outsiders,  was  known  amongst  the 
trainers  and  stable  men  around  Darcliffe  to  have  done 
as  fine  things  in  the  way  of  trial  races  as  his  stable  com- 
panion, and  he  was  ahorse,  which,  when  handled  gentlj7, 
as  he  was  being  to-day  by  Lady  Adelaide's  finger-tips, 
he  was  pretty  sure  to  strain  wind  and  limb  to  their  utmost 
at  her  urging. 

Over  the  fourth  hurdle  they  sailed,  neck  and  neck, 
whilst  the  enthusiasm  of  the  on-lookers  became  clamor- 
ous. 

"  She'll  have  it,  the  young  lady !  There's  none  like 
her  to  ride  a  thoroughbred." 

"  Nonsense,"  came  from  another;  "  the  favorite  is  only 
holding  back  while  she  does  the  running." 


8  HER  PL  A  Y  THINGS,    MEN. 

li  You're  mightily  mistaken,  young  man ;  tbat  riding 
doesn't,  mean  anything  but  dead  earnest.  But  doesn't 
she  ride,  though  ;  and  lie  is  pressing  her  hard." 

"  Yes,  she  has  it !  No,  they're  over  the  last  .together. 
She  pulls  ahead  !  She  has  it !  She  has  it !  She  has  it ! 

No,  d me  if  it  isn't  the  favorite  by  a  neck  !  Well, 

well,  I  must  back  the  favorite  and  win  some  money." 

Wild  cheers  rang  out  now  for  the  favorite.  He  was 
going  to  win  money  for  them  all,  for  every  one  of 
them  had  backed  him  for  the  great  race. 

"  Never  beaten — he's  a  clipper,  and  has  every  penny  I 
own  on  him." 

The  speaker  was  a  burly  farmer,  who  had  since  he  was 
a  small  boy  considered  it  part  of  his  religious  creed  to 
back  and  uphold  the  horses  produced  by  his  own  shire, 
and  Blackbriar  he  knew  to  be  one  of  the  finest  he  had 
ever  had  the  pleasure  of  risking  his  money  on. 

"Hedge  a  bit  is  what  I  am  going  to  do,"  said  a  cooler- 
headed  Southerner.  "  Every  man  in  England  has  his 
pound,  shilling  or  penny  on  Blackbriar,  so  the  odds  are 
too  short  to  make  anything,  and  I  wouldn't  trust  him 
anyhow  too  much."  • 

11  Ye  know  precious  little,  then,  an'  ye  don't  know  our 
Darcliffe  horse." 

Whereat,  with  a  groan  for  the  skeptical  speaker,  the 
crowd  dispersed  to  rush  to  where  their  idol  was  pawing 
the  turf  and  fretfully  champing  his  bit,  as  though  medi- 
tating another  scamper  over  the  field  of  his  triumph. 

One  and  all  secure  whatever  prices  remain  at  that 
late  hour  in  the  betting  market,  and  all  feel  happy  about 
their  investments. 

Lady  Adelaide  and  Eutland  in  the  meantime    have 


A    LIFE'S    WRECK.  9 

drawn  up  side  by  side,  with  the  velvety  glow  of  health 
on  their  cheeks  and  lips,  but  in  the  young  man's  spark- 
ling fresh  dark  eye  is  an  especial  flash  of  triumph,  as 
with  ineffable  tenderness  and  love  breathing  in  his  whole 
demeanor,  he  bends  his  looks  on  his  adorable  compan- 
ion. 

"Do  you  understand,  darling,  the  race  is  minef  he 
whispers.  "The  race  is  mine,  you  are  mine,  the  world 
is  mine." 

11  Does  it  make  you  very  happy f  she  retorts  saucily, 
and  then  recoils  a  little  timidly,  as  would  the  frightened 
fawn  in  tbe  gyves  of  its  captor. 

"  Adelaide,"  he  murmured,  his  eyes  full  of  passionate 
adoration,  "  I  love  you." 

"  And  I  you,"  was  breathed  softly  in  return. 

A  deep  draught  of  love  they  drink  from  each  other's 
eyes ;  then  they  slowly  come  back  to  realities,  and  turn 
their  horses'  heads  towards  Darcliffe. 

As  they  left  the  race  course  with  its  crowds  of  trainers 
and  jockeys  considerably  to  the  rear,  and  emerged  once 
more  under  the  fine  old  oaks  of  Darcliffe,  the  sun  was 
rising  to  its  zenith,  the  rooks  had  spread  their  wings  in 
search  of  some  distant  pasture  lauds  where  the  worms 
and  succulent  roots  were  particularly  tasty,  and  all  in 
the  woods  was  silent  in  the  noon-tide. 

"  You  said  your  uncle  was  away,  did  you  not,  Rutland? 
But  he  might  be  back  by  an  early  train." 

"  Yes,  darling,  he  might,  but  that  is  improbable." 

"  Still  he  will  be  very  angry  if  he  hears  of  this,  so  we 
had  better  hurry  homeward." 

"  His  anger  will  mean  nothing  to  me,  darling,  when  by 


10  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

incurring  it  I  shall  have  procured  the  slightest  pleasure 
for  my  Adelaide." 

Again  in  one  clinging  kiss  of  youth,  and  love,  and 
pleasure  their  lips  met  under  the  wind-swung  branches 
of  the  oaks,  and  then  they  dashed  forward,  anxious  to 
place  their  horses  safe  in  their  own  stalls  at  Darcliffe. 

For  a  few  happy  moments  they  cantered  side  by  side 
avoiding  now  a  projecting  bough,  now  a  blasted  tree- 
stump  overgrown  with  moss  and  dewy  primroses,  until, 
in  the  very  heart  of  that  quiet  wood  the  slumbering 
wood-pigeons  were  startled  into  timid  life  by  a  lady's 
wild  cry,  mingling  with  a  deep  angry  bellow,  loud  and 
terrible  to  them  in  their  peaceful  groves  as  is  the  angry 
roar  of  the  lion  in  his  native  forests.  A  crashing  of 
underwood  and  a  galloping  of  heavy  feet  was  hoard, 
distinct  from  the  flying  footfalls  of  the  horses,  and  the 
lady  was  conscious  of  having  for  a  moment  beheld  dash 
ing  full  upon  her  flank,  a  lordly  steer  that  had  broken 
from  some  shambles  not  far  off,  with  the  gash  of  the 
slaughter-axe  gaping  wide  in  his  massive  neck,  -whilst 
the  blood  gushed  in  torrents  from  the  huge  rift,  madden- 
ing the  brute  with  pain  and  terror. 

However,  fear  lent  the  swiftness  of  the  wind  to  Lady 
Adelaide's  horse's  hoofs,  as  with  a  startled  snort,  Black- 
water  sped  onward,  gaining  steadily  before  his  pursuer, 
though  the  latter  was  goaded  by  fury  to  an  alarming- 
speed. 

"  Darling,  you  were  always  a  brave  girl,  but  now  you 
must  show  your  courage  more  than  ever.  I  do  not  think, 
however,  there  is  real  danger." 

Side  by  side  they  galloped,  the  gentleman  reining  in 
slightly,  and  directing  his  movements  according  to  the 


A    LIFE'S    WRECK.  11 

lady's  speed,  whilst  behind  them,  and  not  so  very  far, 
the  savage  brute  came  thundering  along  with  ponderous 
hoof-stroke  and  an  occasional  fierce  bellow  which  froze 
the  blood  of  the  riders. 

Each  moment,  however,  he  was  losing  ground,  and 
when  next  the  lady  turned  in  her  saddle  she  knew  that 
danger  was  past. 

"By  Jove,  the  bridge  over  the  torrent  is  broken!" 
crir-d  the  young  man  in  startling  tones,  "  and  it  is  an 
ugly  spot ;  we  must  let  our  horses  look  well  at  it  and 
take  time." 

Yawning  now  at  their  feet  was  a  ravine  whose  sides 
were  steep  as  a  precipice,  and  studded  at  the  bottom 
with  huge  rocks,  over  which  a  torrent  was  rushiug. 

They  knew  their  horses,  however,  to  be  steeplechasers, 
daring  and  active  enough  to  clear  a  wider  or  an  uglier 
leap  than  this,  and  the  riders  were  not  alarmed.  But 
some  time  was  necessarily  lost  in  creeping  down  the  dizzy 
incline,  whilst  other  valuable  moments  were  past  in  find- 
ing a  part  of  the  torrent  practicable  for  a  leap.  Parts 
were  too  dangerously  wide,  parts  so  bristled  with  slip- 
pery or  jagged  rocks  that  no  horse's  hoof  could  rest  upon 
them  to  take  off.  At  one  spot  at  the  near  brink  of  the 
torrent  lay  a  newly-fallen  oak  tree,  a  young  tree  of 
about  sixty  years'  growth,  which  had  been  dealt  foully 
with ;  the  coutrabaud  axe  had  done  part  of  the  work,  and 
a  late  storm  the  rest. 

At  the  spot  where  the  trunk  of  this  tree  lay  the  tor- 
rent  was  at  its  narrowest,  and  a  tiny  patch  of  sward 
stretched  beneath  the  horses'  hoofs.  This  was  the 
most  feasible  spot  for  a  leap,  but  it  would  still  be  a 


12  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEN. 

hazardous  one,  owing  to  the  obstruction  offered  by  the 
fallen  tree. 

"  You  do  not  fear  it,  I  am  sure  * ?'  said  the  gentleman 
encouragingly,  and  a  proud  little  toss  of  the  head  was 
her  only  answer. 

"  Then  here  is  the  take  off,  and  follow  me.  Your 
horse  must  rise  high  to  the  tree,  and  take  a  good  stretch. 

"  Stay,  darling  !  "  he  cried  suddenly  ;  "  that  bough 
will  drag  you  from  your  saddle." 

Dismounting  quickly,  he  swung  his  full  weight  from 
the  projecting  bough  so  as  to  draw  it  slightly  aside. 

"  Now  !  Pass  ! "  cried  he. 

In  a  moment  the  lady  was  over  tree  and  stream,  as 
ifghtly  borne  as  though  it  were  a  swallow  that  had 
skimmed  the  water. 

In  the  meantime  the  brute  pursuing  then  came  thun- 
dering along,  and  a  bellow  close  at  hand  told  the  young 
man  he  had  no  time  to  lose. 

In  consternation  he  sprang  to  his  saddle,  his  horse, 
snorting  with  terror,  scarce  rose  to  the  tree-trunk  ;  he 
struck  it  heavily  with  his  knees,  and  not  being  able  to 
save  himself,  he  struggled  wildly  in  mid-air,  and  then 
plunged  forward  on  his  head  into  the  water,  where  for  a 
moment  he  lay  stunned. 

Quick  as  thought  the  young  man  had  disengaged  him- 
self, and  snatched  from  his  breast  pocket  a  revolver 
which  he  presented  at  the  head  of  the  oncoming  steer. 

Crack  !  Crack !  rang  out  upon  the  air,  and  one  bullet 
lodged  in  the  steer's  head,  but  it  was  too  late.  Ere  the 
fallen  horse  could  rise  from  the  water  again,  the  mad- 
dened brute  had  hurled  himself  with  such  savage  im- 
petuosity down  the  rough  sides  of  the  ravine,  that  at  the 


A   LIFE'S    WRECK.  13 

• 

bottom,  in  the  rough  torrent  intersecting  it,  he  fell  power- 
less in  the  throes  of  death,  but  not  before  his  cruel  horns 
had  torn  into  shreds  the  quivering  heart  of  Black  briar, 
the  gallant  racer  who  was  to  have  carried  the  thousands 
of  the  rich,  the  hundreds  of  the  poor  safely  past  the  post, 
only  four  days  thence. 

A  cry  of  pain  escaped  the  blanched  lips  of  the  lady, 
as  she  she  sprang  from  her  saddle  to  the  ground. 

"  It  will  ruin  the  Earl  of  Darcliffe !  What  will  he  say  ? 
He  has  so  much  money  on  the  race.  Oh,  poor,  noble 
Blackbriar  !  How  sorry  I  am  for  you  !  Rutland,  dearest, 
can  I  not  do  something  for  you  ?  Something  for  him  P 
she  asked  plaintively. 

"  Nothing  dearest,  noth " 

Ere  he  could  finish  there  came  from  the  crest  of  the 
hill  above  them  a  startling  cry  of  horror,  a  cry  with  the 
ring,  almost  of  wild  despair,  and  in  an  instant  the  tall, 
soldierly  form  of  the  Earl  of  Darcliffe,  with  blanched 
cheek  and  flaming  eye,  and  a  loaded  revolver  in  his  hand, 
came  springing  down  the  slope. 

Hatred  and  contempt  breathed  from  his  lips  and  brow 
as  he  advanced  threateningly  towards  his  nephew. 

"  Coward  !"  he  hissed,  with  suppressed  passion,  pre- 
senting the  revolver  at  his  nephew's  temple,  "  you  deserve 
it  more  than  that  poor  dumb  brute  yonder.  Go,  cow- 
ard !  get  thee  hence  quickly,  and  never  dare  to  darken 
my  threshold  again!  Go,"  he  cried  again,  with  intense 
and  rising  fury,  "  Go,  or  I  will  shoot  you  down  like  any 
dog  in  my  pathway." 

Then,  whilst  his  ashen  lips  quivered  with  pain,  he 
turned  and  sent  two  bullets  through  the  brain  of  the 
noblest  animal  he  had  ever  called  his  own ;  and  it  was  a 


14  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

mercy,  indeed,  for  in  the  pangs  of  expiring  agony  the 
limbs  of  the  gallant  brute  were  yet  trembling. 

"  Forgive  me,"  uncle !"  was  all  that  Rutland  Borradule 
could  murmur,  as  with  a  sob  that  choked  him,  and  pas- 
sionate despair  in  his  starry  boyish  eyes,  he  turned  to 
leave  that  scene  of  horror. 

But  now  a  detaining  hand  was  laid  on  his  arm,  and  a 
pale  face  was  raised  to  his. 

"  Rutland,"  she  cried,  "  you  have  a  friend  till  death  in 
me,  tell  me  if  I  may  not  help  you  ?" 

"  You  cannot,  dearest,"  he  breathed  hoarsely.  "  Be- 
lieve me,  it  is  best  that  we  should  say  goodbye  forever 
here.  All  must  now  be  over  between  us,  as  you  see,  I 
shall  now  be  nothing  but  a  beg —  beggar."  It  was  with 
difficulty  he  framed  the  word  which  meant  for  him  a  life- 
long struggle  and  pain. 

"  Rutland !  not  good  bye !"  and  the  plaintive  dark 
yes  anon  wells  of  love  and  light  were  raised  to  his  in 
mute  entreaty,  till  his  whole  frame  quivered,  and  his 
resolution  faltered,  but  it  was  only  for  a  brief  moment. 

One  lingering  look  he  cast  towards  that  scene  of  hor- 
ror where  the  idolized  racer  of  his  uncle's  stables  and  of 
all  their  country  round  had,  with  his  last  faithful  gasp 
stretched  his  gallant  limbs,  stark  and  cold,  at  his  pitying 
master's  feet,  when  naught  of  sorrow  or  despair  could 
avail  to  rouse  him, — and  the  young  man  dashed  his  hand 
to  his  brow. 

"Adelaide !  Adelaide !  look  yonder !  It  is,  indeed  good 
bye  forever,  and  I  hope,  for  your  sake,  I  may  never  see 
you  again." 

"  Rutland,  you  do  not  love  me,"  she  cried,  with  bitter 
passion,  but  seeing  that  the  young  man  turned  from  her, 


A    LIFE'S    WRECK. 

she  sprang  towards  him  with  a  great  fear  in  her  hear 

"  Let  nie  save  you  from  one  plunge  in  the  depths  of 
misery,"  she  cried,  as,  unbuttoning  his  coat,  she  drew 
from  its  little  resting  place,  the  deadly  toy,  with  glitter- 
ing muzzle,  which,  with  steady  hand,  she  pointed  at  her 
own  white  brow. 

"  .Remember,"  she  cried,  with  bloodless  lips,  "  that  I 
keep  it  always,  and  no  sooner  do  you  attempt  to  end 
your  life  than  this  will  also  stop  the  heart  beats  of  your 
once  loved  Adelaide !" 

Ere  the  revolver  had  been  lowered,  ere  the  blood  had 
crept  timidly  back  to  her  lips  and  cheeks,  her  lover  had 
sped  away,  leaving  her  to  face  alone  whatever  the  future 
held  of  good  or  evil  for  her. 

But  in  Eutlaud  Borradale's  ear,  as  he  went,  came  the 
low  murmur  of  her  voice  : 

"  I  shall  wait  for  you  !  You  will  return  and  find  me 
waiting." 


18  HER  PLAYTHINGS,  MEN. 

CHAPTER   HI. 

A    QUEEN    OF    BEAUTY. 

In  the  March  of  18—,  four  years  later  than  the  events 
we  have  just  described,  there  were  invitations  issued  for 
a  ball  at  No.  67  Boulevarde  d'Igliamento,  in  the  centre 
of  the  most  fashionable  quarter  of  Brussels,  and  all  the 
wealth  and  beauty  of  the  kingdom  were  expected  to 
grace  it  en  masse. 

High  hopes  and  aspirations  were  based  upon  the  coin- 
ing fete;  it  was  to  be  one  of  the  most  brilliant  events  of 
the  season,  the  military  were  to  be  represented  by  the 
handsome  2d  Lancers  and  the  dashing  "Guides,"  to  the 
thrilling  strains  of  whose  band  the  guests  would  dance  ; 
and  numerous  and  interesting  were  the  conjectures 
amongst  the  daughters  of  beauty  as  to  which  of  them 
should  on  that  occasion  bear  off  tho  coveted  palm  for 
unrivalled  loveliness.  Alas  !-  many  were  to  be  the  holo- 
causts sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  Venus  for  that  event, 
and  iii  consequence,  many  were  the  victims  to  trades- 
men's bills  who  passed  an  uncomfortable  cycle  before 
and  after  the  18th. 

All  the  illustrious  houses  of  the  capital  had  their 
guests,  and  amongst  the  most  honored  were  those  of  the 
great  "Banking  Baron,"  who  at  present  was  doing  the 
honors  of  his  princely  mansion  to  the  Marchioness  of 
Ripdale,  one  of  the  most  renowned  beauties  of  Europe, 
and  to  whom  all  conceded  the  title  of  "  loveliest  of  her 
sex"  wherever  she  appeared.  Little  doubt  had  she  or 


A    QUEEN  OF  BEAUTY.  17 

indeed  any  one  else,  that  her  triumph  at  this  ball  would 
be  unexceptional,  and  that  so  long  as  she  was  present, 
no  other  beauty  could  be  looked  at.  So  accustomed  was 
she  to  "  come,  and  see  and  conquer ! " 

"  We  understand,"  said  the  beautiful  Marchioness,  one 
morning  over  her  matiual  ortolan  to  her  host,  the  Baron 
de  Eothsleind,  u  though  indeed,  merely  from  the  vaguest 
rumor  that  there  is  at  the  Castle  of  Montelarde,  a  rather 
good  looking  girl,  totally  unknown  in  society,  not  pre- 
sented at  Court  either  in  England  or  Belgium,  who,  in  a 
word, is  an  American,  and  who,  owing  to  her  wealth,  might 
be  quite  a  feature  of  our  little  entertainment,  Baron,  so 
we  might  stretch  a  point  and  have  her.  But  I  fear 
sadly,"  she  added,  "  it  will  be  a  case  of  too  many 
millions,  a  very  little  of  good  looks,  and  nothing  about 
her  that  could  be  termed  i  chic.'  However,  we  must 
complain  of  nothing,  she  can  stand  alone,  as  her  wealth 
lends  her  ample  attraction." 

And  while  her  host  is  dispatching  the  invitations  to 
the  Castle  of  Moutelarde,  the  spoiled  beauty  turns  to 
the  satisfactory  contemplation  of  her  own  unrivalled 
charms  in  the  handsome  pier  glasses  which  abound  around 
her. 

The  night  of  the  18th,  and  evening  !  Ten  o'clock  had 
struck  in  the  old  halls  of  Montelarde,  and  the  party 
from  the  castle  had  not  yet  started,  although  the  drive 
into  town  was  more  than  sixteen  miles. 

"The  horses  will  do  it  in  no  time,"  calmly  asserted 
Monsieur  de  Moutespaire.  "  They  have  had  nothing  to 
do  for  a  week." 

He  might  as  well  have  been  philosophical  over  the 
matter.  Who  can  describe  the  thrill  of  excitement  and 


18      .  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

delight,  the  bustle,  the  rushing  to  and  fro,  the  endless 
adjusting  of  trifles ;  in  a  word,  the  infinite  pleasure  that 
reigns  in  the  ladies'  boudoir  the  liour  before  the  ball. 

Who,  on  the  contrary,  can  paint,  too,  dismally  the  en- 
nui of  the  gentlemen's  apartments  during  the  same  hour ; 
the  standing  in  draughts,  the  gloomy  endeavors  to  find 
cigars,  the  heavy  penalty  of  arranging  a  cravat,  the  hu- 
miliation of  looking  for  a  pin,  followed  by  the  odious 
perplexity  of  not  knowing  what  must  be  done  with  that 
pin. 

Yes,  for  the  gentlemen,  undoubtedly  this  is  the  su- 
premely miserable  hour  of  their  lives,  whilst  for  the 
ladies  it  holds  complete  bliss. 

Madame  de  Montespaire  was  still  hurrying  to  and 
fro  in  her  gorgeous  attire  of  black  velvet  and  silk, 
trimmed  elegantly  with  a  thousand  pounds'  worth  of 
Brussels  lace.  Diamonds  adorned  her  comely  neck,  and 
a  tiara  of  handsome  emeralds  and  diamonds  sparkled 
in  her  hair,  whilst  in  her  bosom  blazed  the  superb  bloom 
of  a  single  scarlet  cactus. 

And  the  while  in  her  elegant  boudoir  sat  Elra  Brook- 
ley,  with  curl-caressed  brow  leaning  on  her  jeweled 
hand,  entirely  oblivious  of  passing  events,  wholly  indif- 
ferent to  the  coming  hour  and  its  requirements. 

"  I  have  been  loved — yes,  I  have  been  adored  by  one 
handsome  as  a  young  god !  Loved !"  she  murmured,  as 
with  dreamy  eyes  she  looked  out  over  the  lake,  where 
in  the  darkling  shadows  the  queenly  swans  glided  in 
and  out  among  the  waxen  water  lilies  and  tangled  reeds. 
"Yes,  loved!  Have  I  not  felt  it  in  the  tremble  of  his 
hand,  as  his  dark  eye  met  mine  5  felt  it  in  the  passion- 
ate quiver  of  his  whole  frame  as  his  lips  have  brushed 


A    QUEEN  OF  BEAUTY.  19 

mine.  Yea,  have  I  not  read  it  writ  in  his  eyes — those 
glorious  eyes  which,  looking  solemnly,  wonderingly  into 
the  chaos  of  the  future,  I  have  seen  sublime  with  the 
dark,  thrilling  passion  which  might  have  lived  in 
David's  as  he  approached  with  rapturous  intent  to  slay 
Goliath — those  eyes  which,  speaking  back  to  me,  were 
all  of  tenderness  and  worship,  as  beneath  their  heavy 
shade  of  lashes  they  sparkled  and  glinted  and  kindled 
as  the  deep  waters  under  the  starlight,  until  they  were 
very  dangerous  for  lovely  woman  to  get  lost  in  their 
seductive  depths. 

"  Yes,  dangerous  for  others,  but  not  for  me,  for  we  are 
beloved  of  one  another — we  have  plighted  faith  to  one 
another  forever  and  ever !" 

But  here  she  brushed  her  curls  from  her  brow  and 
sighed. 

"  Could  he  but  be  here  to-night !  Could  he  but  assure 
me  that  his  love  is  as  ardent  yet  as  it  was  in  those  happy 
days  !  But  he  is  not  rich,  and  they  will  not  have  asked 
him.  Poor  Rutland !"  she  cried,  flinging  impatiently 
from  her  the  diamond  crescents  that  her  maid  had  sup- 
posed would  sparkle  superbly  that  night  in  her  dark 
wealth  of  hair. 

"  What  avail  to  look  handsome  to-night  ?  He  will 
not  be  present,  and  I  shall  be  alone  to  enjoy  my  little 
triumphs,  or  to  howl  over  my  big  miseries,  as  the  case 
may  be.  Come  !"  she  cried,  as  a  tap  at  the  door  re- 
minded her  that  however  much  she  might  fondly  imag- 
ine she  would  be  quite  alone  that  evening,  her  brisk 
little  maid  intended  quickly  to  disturb  all  such  visions 
by  taking  absolute  possession  of  her  person  in  order  to 
put  the  finishing  touches  to  her  ball-room  toilet. 


20  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

Fortunately  the  maid  was  not  as  indifferent  on  the 
subject  as  was  her  mistress,  with  the  result  that,  after 
clusters  of  sapphires  and  handsome  diamonds  had  been 
fastened  here  and  there  with  the  entire  independence  of 
a  daughter  of  America,  and  when  her  exquisite  gown  of 
palest  blue,  trimmed  with  the  softest  blue-fox  fur,  which 
looked  chic  and  decidedly  handsome  against  the  ivory 
whiteness  of  her  neck,  had  been  adjusted  to  satisfaction, 
Elra  Brookley  was  indeed  a  vision  fit  to  make  many  a 
female  breast  throb  with  indignant  envy  and  astonish- 
ment. 

It  was  a  brilliant  assemblage  that  burst  upon  their 
view  as  the  party  from  Montelarde  entered  the  crowded 
ball-room.  A  waltz  had  just  terminated,  and  the  prom- 
enade towards  the  supper  room  had  begun.  In  a  word, 
everybody  seemed  intent  upon  his  or  her  own  particular 
business  or  pleasure;  but  one  magic  whispered  word 
brought  again  a  rush  and  a  crush,  and  a  polite  scramble 
to  the  centre  of  the  hall,  where  Elra  Brookley  and  her 
queenly  chaperone  were  advancing  up  the  polished  floor 
to  greet  their  hostess.  Eyes  were  strained,  heads  were 
turned,  glasses  lowered,  and  through  the  groups  on  all 
sides  there  crept  a  thrill,  a  shiver,  almost  an  expressed 
groan  of  entirely  satisfied  wonderment. 

"The  heiress  !"  was  breathed  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?    There  must  be  a  mistake." 

"  One  would  be  inclined  not  to  credit  her  wealth  with 
such  good  looks." 

"  However,  the  Banking  Baron  is  a  good  voucher  for 
that." 

Such  were  the  remarks  that  were  rife  on  all  sides  as 
Elra  swept  up  the  hall,  with  the  calm  dignity  of  good 


A    QUEEN  OF  BEAUTY.  21 

breeding,  unconscious  of,  or  perhaps  more  truly  indiffer- 
ent to  the  effect  she  was  producing,  when  suddenly, 
standing  out  from  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  she  caught 
sight  of  a  face  that  brought  a  tinge  of  deeper  color  to 
her  cheek  ;  a  face  remarkable  for  nothing  so  much  as  a 
pair  of  marvellously  soft  gray  eyes,  which  answered  hers 
with  all  the  enthusiastic  adoration  of  a  schoolboy.  Yes ! 
Elra's  eyes  could  not  refrain  from  telling  their  pleasure 
at  seeing  a  friend  of  olden  times  in  Murray  Cresenworth, 
for,  down  in  Montelarde,  hemmed  in  amongst  the  tower- 
ing mountains  and  purple  peaks,  she  had  perhaps  of  late 
felt  a  little  lonely  and  just  a  little  lost. 

"  He  will  be  sure,"  thought  she,  u  to  have  news  from 
Rutland.  I  am  so  glad  he  has  come." 

It  was  thus,  as  the  startled  light  of  surprise  and 
pleasure  shone  in  her  glorious  eyes,  that  De  Mouteford, 
a  supercilious  old  roue,  well  known  in  most  of  the 
fashionable  clubs  of  Brussels,  Paris,  and  even  London, 
with  all  tbe  impertinence  of  his  class,  levelled  his  glasses 
at  the  advancing  form  of  the  heiress,  and  professed  his 
marked  admiration  with  all  the  savor  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  By  Jove,"  cried  he,  in  an  insolent  drawl,  u  she  wears 
her  wealth  as  another  woman  would  her  diamonds, 
merely  to  crown  her  beauty.  But,"  added  he,  with  a 
marked  curl  of  his  close-shaven  lip,  "  the  auctioneering 
is  low  at  present.  She  may  be  knocked  down  to  an 
earl.' 

And  Forthwith  he  dismissed  from  his  mind  al\  thoughts 
on  so  trivial  a  subject. 

The  next  dance  on  the  programme  \vd8  a  set  01  lancers, 
and  in  this  Elra  took  a  part  with  some  person  of  note 
whose  name  she  did  not  even  care  to  enquire.  She 


22  HER  PLA  Y  THINGS,    MEN. 

knew  he  was  an  English  "  lord,"  a  fact  which  made  him 
intolerable  in  her  estimation.  Now,  Elra  Brookley's 
ideas  on  this  subject  were  somewhat  eccentric,  and 
showed  an  amount  of  old-fashioned  independence,  quite 
incomprehensible,  and  sad  to  behold  in  so  well  bred  a 
young  person. 

She  had  once  met  a  young  Englishman  of  the  genus 
ulord,"  who  in  the  superb  pride  of  aristocracy  had  re- 
lated to  her  how  the  "pork-dealers'  daughters"  were 
having  it  all  their  own  way  Amongst  the  English  swells; 
and  forthwith  she  had  settled  it  definitely  in  her  mind 
that  she  should  loathe  England's  wooden  swelldom. 

"  I  almost  fancy,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  I  could 
hate  even  Rutland  if  he  were  one  of  those  titled  eye-glass 
wearing  Englishmen.  And  yet,  if  any  one  has  an  air  of 
breeding  and  of  class  about  him,  it  is  Rutland.  I  sup- 
pose with  my  amount  of  money  I  shall  be  looked  down 
upon  for  choosing  a  plain  Mr.  Anybody,  no  matter  how 
distinguished  that  Mr.  Anybody  may  be;  but,  after  all, 
other  people's  pity  cannot  make  me  unhappy  with  Rut- 
land." 

In  the  meantime  whilst  Elra,  with  intensely  bored  ex- 
pression— the  "  Ford  "  admired  her  all  the  more  for  it,  it 
was  a  sign  of  breeding  he  thought— was  pacing  through 
the  dance,  Murray  Cresenworth  had  been  doing  his  best 
to  get  close  to  Elra,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  lancers 
did  actually  contrive  to  carry  her  off — most  willingly  on 
her  part — for  the  following  waltz,  despite  the  looks  of 
hostility  and  entreaty  respectively,  succeeding  each  other 
on  the  peer's  face, 

Murray's  arm  was  on  her  waist,  her  hand  clasped  his, 
whilst  the  music  rose  and  fell  in  passionate  or  languishing 


A    QUEEN  OF  BEAUTY.  23 

cadence,  and  away  they  floated,  threading  their  way 
amidst  clouds  of  tulle  and  laces,  as  free  from  jostle  by 
Murray's  superior  guidance  as  though  they  sailed  alone 
upon  an  open  sea,  with  thoughts  for  nothing  save  the 
voluptuous  swell  of  the  music  and  the  enthralling  pleas- 
ure of  the  hour. 

Such  a  pair  of  graceful  dancers  could  not  fail  to  be  the 
cynosure  of  many  admiring  glances,  and  of  some  very 
envious  ones. 

Amongst  others  who  watched  these  dancers  in  partic- 
ular were  a  very  portly  dowager,  and  her  two  rather 
well  favored  daughters,  who  were  temporarily  enjoying 
a  rest. 

"  Why  Marie,  my  daughter,  what  has  become  of  your 
jeun  Americain  I  I  was  beginning  to  imagine,  and  not 
without  reason,  that  he  was  very  much  epris.  Am  I  to 
understand  that  you  and  he  have  quarrelled  ?  " 

Now,  on  the  day  preceding  this  important  event,  it 
must  be  told  that  Pauline,  Odile  and  Marie,  three  sisters, 
and  Madame  de  la  lioche,  their  mother,  had  assembled 
to  debate  about  the  coming  ball ;  they  had  arranged 
about  dresses,  about  partners,  about  business.  Each  one 
had  been  alloted  a  certain  line  to  pursue;  Pauline  deter- 
mines to  attack  a  very  rich  widower,  Odile  is  apportioned 
some  younger  prey,  and,  last  of  all,  Marie  is  lectured. 

"You,  Marie,"  said  the  wise  Pauline,  "  must  secure 
Monsieur  Cresenvort,  he  is  imrnensly  rich,  and  seems  to 
care  for  you.  He  is,  besides,  young,  ardent  and  very 
impressionable.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  do  it." 

"I  fear  not,"  said  Marie,  diffidently ;  "  he  rather  ad- 
mires Mademoiselle  Berthe." 


24  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

"Pooh,  she  is  as  cold  and  as  dull  as  stone,  and  as  hid- 
eous as  an  Egyptian  mummy.  She  will  not  stand  in  your 
way  with  so  brilliant  and  witty  a  person  as  Monsieur 
Cresenvort,  be  assured,  Marie  1 " 

"I  like  Monsieur  Cresenvort  very  much,"  responded 
Marie,  still  unconvinced,  "  but  I  fear  he  is  too  gay  and 
too  charming  for  me." 

"  You  are  pretty,"  retorted  her  sister  impatiently,  "  do 
as  we  advise  you,  or  you  will  be  very  ungrateful." 

And  this  then  was  the  reason  why  in  Marie's  bright 
eyes  lingered  the  air  of  the  conqueror,  as  she  sat  by  her 
mother  watching  the  latest  arrival,  which  happened  to  be 
Madame  de  Moutelarde  and  her  beautiful  charge;  she, 
Marie,  had  been  dancing  since  she  entered  the  rooms 
with  that  ravissant  Monsieur  Cresenvort. 

"Three  dances  in  succession,"  cried  her  sister  Odile 
enthusiastically,  "and  see  how  wickedly  those  girls  you- 
der  are  looking  at  you.  You  are  a  darling  wicked  little 
coquette,  Marie." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Marie  deprecatingly,  "  I  trust  it  will 
not  look  too  marked  but  as  Monsieur  Cresenvort  has 
asked  me  for  the  thirteenth  dance,  which  is  one  of  the 
evening's  prettiest  waltzes,  I  suppose  I  may  stretch  a 
point  and  dance  it  with  him  '?" 

"Then,"  came  the  quick  rejoinder,  "be  sure  you  se- 
cure the  fourteenth  and  endeavor  to  sit  out  the  fifteenth 
with  him." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Marie,  with  a  quick  gasp  of  horror  at 
sight  of  their  proposed  victim  skimming  past  on  the 
polished  floor  with  his  arm  on  the  waist  of  an  unutter- 
ably lovely  girl,  wholly  unknown  to  her  or  her  sisters. 

Yes,  away  glided  those  two  happy  dancers,  dreamers 


A    QUEEN  OF  BEAUTY.  25 

they  were  then,  up  and  down  and  around  they  went  as 
though  they  could  never  tire;  till  at  last  among  the 
fern-decked  archways  and  the  dim  lights,  they  disap- 
peared altogether;  and,  I  would  not  like  to  say  posi- 
tively, but  I  am  inclined  to  fear,  that  the  thirteenth 
waltz  and  its  engagements  were  totally  forgotten  by 
some  one,  who  as  the  outraged  Marie  presumed,  with 
much  indignation,  ought  to  have  known  better. 

"  How  decidedly  frowsy  our  dancers  are  beginning  to 
look,  Baron ; "  remarked  the  Marchioness  of  Ripdale  to 
her  host,  as  they  sat  at  the  reserved  supper  table  at  the 
end  of  the  great  dining  hall,  whereon  nothing  but  silver 
and  the  richest  cut  glasses  sparkled  under  their  wealth 
of  vine-leaf  and  fruit,  quaking  jelly,  cheese  cake,  and 
marrou-glace ;  and  where  in  quick  succession,  pate  de 
foie  gras,  chicken  salads,  cold  duck,  ortolans  or  wood 
cock,  chased  each  other  at  the  behest  of  the  apparently 
unappreciative  gourmands. 

"  But  there  is  a  complexion  yonder  of  pure  alabaster  ; 
how  refreshing  it  is  in  its  positively  dazzling  whiteness, 
after  all  those  horrors  of  the  ball  room.  My  brain  may 
have  been  softened  by  your  excellent  wines,  Baron,  but 
it  appears  to  me  impossible  to  explain,  why  people  will 
dance  if  it  mars  their  beauty," 

"Oh,  easily  explained,  dear  Marchioness,  they  have 
none  to  lose.  There  are  but  five  perfectly  beautiful 
women  in  the  whole  of  Europe,  and  of  these  only  one 
has  deigned  to  grace  my  rooms  with  her  presence  to-night. 
She  however  will  ever  be  more  esteemed  than  all  the 
others. 

"Baron,  you  are  a  Parisian,  and  you  wrong  you? 
guests,  especially  she  of  the  Grecian  brow  and  marble- 


20 


HER  PL  A  Y  THINGS,   MEN. 


white  skin;  and,  positively,  if  I  am  to  enjoy  another 
morsel  of  your  excellent  supper,  I  must  have  that  re- 
freshingly perfect  face  opposite  me.  But  who  is  the 
goddess  with  the  handsome  shadowy  eyes  and  keen 
eagle  brows  1  The  type  is  so  decidedly  new  that  I  won- 
der where  she  can  have  brought  her  good  looks  from  ?  " 

"  From  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  I  presume." 

"  Ah,  the  handsome  heiress ! "  she  exclaimed  languidly 
as  she  toyed  with  her  marron-glace ;  it  will  amuse  me  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  a  Texan  or  a  Nevada  gold- 
mine girl,  they  are  said  to  be  original." 

Beauty  is  almost  always  attracted  towards  beauty, 
and  the  English  marchioness  and  the  American  heiress, 
after  a  pleasant  conversation  over  their  dainty  suppers, 
were  prepared  to  offer  to  each  other  as  sincere  and 
pretty  a  little  hand  of  friendship  as  could  be  exchanged 
between  two  ladies  reared  under  such  widely  different 
circumstances. 

Had  Elra  Brookley  been  an  Englishwoman  she  would 
have  enquired  the  maiden  name  of  the  young  marchion- 
ess whose  beauty  was  inspiring  the  fashionable  world 
with  wonder  ;  she  would  have  placed  herself  in  posses- 
sion of  the  antecedents,  the  past  history,  and,  in  a  word, 
all  that  was  known  about  the  young  peeress  both  before 
and  after  her  marriage. 

But  not  being  English,  Elra  Brookley  lay  languidly 
back  amongst  the  soft  cushions  of  the  carriage  as  they 
drove  homeward  in  the  cold  gray  light  of  morning,  and 
gave  no  more  than  perhaps  a  passing  thought  to  those 
haunting  eyes,  to  those  lips  molded  for  passion,  to  that 
brow  of  snow ;  but  the  recollection  of  them  came  to  her 


A    QUEEN  OF  BEAUTY.  27 

mind  coupled  always  with  an  indefinable  dread  rather 
than  with  any  real  pleasure. 

"  Thank  heaven,"  she  murmured,  "  he  has  been  spared 
having  ever  had  her  beauty  near  him  to  tempt  him  to 
madness  and  passion." 

And  yet  as  she  thought  thus,  she  trembled,  for  simul- 
taneously came  to  her  the  recollection  of  a  strange  event 
which  had  happened  that  .evening. 

During  supper,  Elra  had  noticed  that  the  Marchioness 
of  Eipdale  wore  a  very  handsome  bracelet,  to  which  was 
suspended  a  very  small  locket.  This  locket,  unperceived 
by  its  owner,  had  become  detached  from  the  bracelet, 
and  slipped  among  the  cut  glass  ornaments  of  the 
table.  As  Elra  picked  it  up  and  handed  it  back  to  the 
Marchioness,  her  face  grew,  for  a  moment,  deadly  pale ; 
for  in  that  pretty,  jewel-trimmed  locket  she  saw  a  face 
startlingly  like  that  of  the  man  she  loved  to  distraction, 
though  more  boyish,  with  his  curly  locks  and  stany 
eyes,  than  her  Rutland ;  but  looking  again,  she  found 
the  face  in  the  locket  distinctly  different  from  Rutland's, 
and  she  breathed  more  freely.  And  yet  she  could  not 
put  the  thought  of  that  face  in  the  locket  from  her  mind. 

"  What  if  it  should  be  his  face  after  all,  hanging  there 
at  that  beautiful  peeress'  wrist,  perhaps  placed  there  by 
himself!  But  no,  it  was  not  his  face  !  It  was  entirely 
different,  and  if  it  had  been,  how  could  it  have  come 
there  ?" 

And  thus,  torn  by  unhappy  doubts  and  terrors,  she  fell 
into  a  troubled  slumber  whilst  the  carriage  moved  on- 
ward through  the  fresh  morning  air. 

At  the  same  time  the  Marchioness  in  the  seclusion  of 


28  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

her  silk-draped  boudoir,  sighed  as  she  looked  at  that 
boyish  face  in  her  little  locket. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  she,  "  was  he  angry  or  rejoiced 
when  he  at  length  sought  home  expecting  to  find  me 

waiting,  and  found  me ah ! "  she  looked  down  at  her 

wedding  ring  and  shuddered.  "  I  never  loved  but  him, 
and  him  I  have  myself  thrown  aside !  Well,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  little  frosty  laugh,  "  be  it  so  1  I  must 
now  only  fill  the  blank  in  my  life  by  making  all  men  my 
playthings ! " 

"What  is  that,  dear?"  said  her  husband,  rejoining 
her  at  this  moment.  "  You  seem  happy  for  so  early  an 
hour  in  the  day." 

"  I  was  thinking,  dear,"  rejoined  his  loving  spouse, 
".how  well  you  danced  that  hornpipe  !  It  is  incredible 
for  a  man  of  your  size  and  age." 

With  this  parting  shot,  which  she  knew  would  prove 
spicy  to  the  middle-aged,  rotund  marquis,  she  threw  her- 
self amid  the  satin  cushions  of  the  lounge  and  exhibited 
a  reprehensible  determination  not  to  vouchsafe  another 
word  to  her  lord  and  master. 


IN  THE  PERFUMED  PINE   WOODS.  U9 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  THE  PEKFUMED  PINE  WOODS. 

Many  weeks  had  passed  since  Elra  had  been  so  uni- 
versally accorded  the  pal  in  for  matchless  beauty  at  the 
ball  given  by  the  Baron  de  Eothsleiud  in.  Brussels,  and 
since  then  she  had  lingered  on  in  the  lovely  old  castle  of 
Moutelarde  as  the  pampered  guest  of  Madame  de  Monte- 
spaire  and  her  husband. 

"  We  had  grown  so  old,  dear,  before  you  came,  and 
now  you  are  here  we  live  once  more  and  are  young  again ; 
so,  cherie,  do  not  ask  to  fly  from  us,"  was  reiterated  so 
often  by  her  handsome  hostess  who  found  in  Elra's  visit 
an  excuse  for  gaieties  long  unheard  of  at  the  castle  that 
Elra  was  not  loathe  to  prolong  her  stay. 

"  So  good  of  you  to  tolerate  a  humdrum  existence  like 
ours,  at  this  dull  old  castle,  but  we  must  see  what  we 
can  do  to  enliven  you,"  her  host  would  venture  sometimes ; 
but  this  really  meant  that  he  would  as  usual  plunge  into 
his  daily  paper,  leaving  to  his  wife  the  cares  of  thinking 
out  the  subject  in  question  and  of  following  it  up,  if  she 
cared  to,  which  arrangement  met  with  the  said  wife's 
thorough  approval. 

Thus  many  was  the  brilliant  fete  where  Elra  wielded 
the  sceptre  of  the  courted  Queen  of  Beauty,  repeating 
her  triumphs  o'er  and  o'er,  and  without  number  were  her 
worshippers  who  lingered  always  around  her,  ready  to 
anticipate  her  most  trivial  wish.  Amongst  these  was 


30  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

Murray  Creseuworth,  who  had  gained  the  much  coveted 
privilege  of  calliug  every  now  and  again  to  attend  Elra 
in  her  rambles  on  horseback  or  on  foot. 

Elra  being  in  the  position  of  a  young  woman  whose  af- 
fections were  engaged  elsewhere  was  rather  inclined  to 
ridicule  his  devotion  and  yet,  like  any  daughter  of  Eve, 
when  all  was  said  and  done,  she  had,  be  it  understood,  a 
kind  of  sneaking  affection  for  this  young  American  whose 
enthusiastic  admiration  was  preposterous  and  absurd,  but 
who,  nevertheless,  had  brought  her  good  news  from  him 
on  the  night  of  the  Baron  de  Rothsleind's  ball. 

That  news  whispered  in  her  ear  had  made  her  to  tread 
on  air  for  many  a  day  after,  and,  strange  to  say,  it  was 
oftentimes  that  the  young  man  had  to  repeat  those  whis- 
pered words  in  their  long  rambles  together,  when  they 
so  often  watched  tire  sunbeams  as  they  shot  aslant  on 
the  waters  at  their  feet,  or  the  purple  clouds  of  sunset 
clustering  about  the  falling  disc  of  gold,  or,  again,  the 
gaunt  shadows  of  the  mountains  falling  dark  and  gloomy 
across  the  valley. 

Once,  indeed,  he  had  surprised  her  amongst  the  fern, 
where  couched  the  timid  deer,  with  a  letter  in  her  hand 
and  with  so  soft,  so  tender  a  smile  on  her  lip,  and  in  her 
brimming  eye,  that  he  had  timidly  asked  the  reason. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Oresenworth,  such  news  !  "  cried  she  gaily. 
"Rutland  is    coming.      Read  for  yourself,"   and    she 
handed  him  the  letter  which  ran  briefly  as  follows : 
MY  BELOVED  ONE: 

I  am  starting  to  see  you  at  last,  and  I  tremble  with  joy 
when  I  think  of  our  approaching  meeting.  Remember, 
darling,  your  sweet  promise.  I  shall  call  you  little  wife 
three  days  after  I  rejoin  you,  and  be  true  to  the  man  who 
adores  you. 


IN  THE  PERFUMED  PINE  WOODS.       31 

It  was  signed  with  bis  initials,  E.  B. 

How  selfish  love  ami  prosperity  is  apt  to  make  the 
best  of  us.  Elra,  tender  of  thought  and  word  to  a  de- 
gree at  other  times,  now  glanced  at  her  companion,  eager- 
ly and  selfishly  expecting  naught  but  gladness  and  sym- 
pathy in  his  glance,  but  she  certainly  was  not  prepared 
for  the  change  that  had  transformed  his  ordinarily  cheery 
face  in  hue  from  its  healthy  red  to  the  cold,  ashen  gray 
of  a  snow-charged  sky. 

His  secret  stood  revealed,  and  for  the  first  time  she 
felt  in  her  heart  a  twinge  of  pity  for  her  victim. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  breathed,  softly,  with  a  note  of  pain 
in  her  voice.  "  I  did  not  know — I  never  believed — " 

What  she  did  or  did  not  believe,  never  transpired,  for 
at  that  moment  occurred  something  which  strongly 
diverted  their  thoughts  from  the  point  in  question. 

Ere  Murray  could  command  himself  sufficiently  to 
utter  some  sarcastic  word  expressive  of  how  very  indif- 
ferent he  felt  as  to  anything  that  might  occur  to  his 
lovely  companion  in  the  matter  of  her  marrying  Rutland 
Borradale  or  any  other  man,  Elra's  dainty  parasol, 
whether  premeditated  on  her  part  or  by  accident,  got 
carried  away  by  the  wind,  and  ended  up  in  the  water  at 
their  feet,  where  they  were  compelled  to  watch  it  getting 
sucked  and  crushed  to  atoms  amongst  the  rocks. 

11  How  awkward  of  me  to  have  allowed  it  to  go,"  said 
Murray,  with  deep  contrition,  quite  forgetting  the  sar- 
casm he  had  been  planning,  and  instead  he  looked  for 
forgiveness  in  her  radiant  happy  eyes. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  regretted  at  all,"  she  cried  gaily. 
"It  will  merely  be  an  excuse  to  go  to  town  for  a  new 
one." 


32  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   At  EN. 

All  very  well  such  stoicism  on  Elra's  part,  but  now 
occurred  the  difficulty  of  how  the  heiress  could  possibly 
walk  the  length  of  three  fields,  much  less  all  the  way 
back  to  the  castle,  without  a  sunshade. 

"It  is  not  to  be  thought  of,"  cried  Murray,  deter- 
minedly, and  it  was  forthwith  settled  that  the  gentleman 
should  hurry  homeward  and  from  thence  bring  the  car- 
riage to  meet  her,  with  a  relay  of  sunshades  whose  num- 
ber would  allow  for  any  more  accidents.  With  a  little 
wave  of  her  handkerchief,  Elra  watched  her  cavalier 
disappearing  amongst  the  trees,  and  then,  with  the  wild 
buoyancy  of  spirits  known  only  to  youth  and  pleasure 
and  love,  she  danced  along  the  pathway  towards  the 
lake,  humming  to  a  sweet  air,  well  known  at  that  time : 

"  She  took  three  paces  through  the  room, 
She  saw  the  water-lily  bloom, 
She  saw  the  helm°t  aud  the  plume, 

She  looked  down  to  Oamelot. 

Out  flew  the  web,  and  floated  wide ; 
The  mirror  cracked  from  side  to  side  ; 
'The  curse  is  come  upon  me,'  cried 
The  lady  of  Shalott." 

— Tennyson. 

"  Poor  thing,"  mused  Elra,  "  to  have  her  life's  happi- 
ness wrecked  by  one  glance.  I  wonder,"  she  continued, 
"if  it  could  ever  possibly  be  that  at  one  glance  of  mine 
the  world  and  the  sea  and  the  sky  will  change  in  a  mo- 
ment and  become  everything  that  is  horrible  and  bitter 
and  miserable.  Impossible  !  Impossible ! "  she  cried. 
But  she  shuddered,  nevertheless,  as  she  thought  of  it. 

It  was  a  lovely  view  which  burst  upon  her  sight,  as 
she  cleared  the  pine  and  oak  woods  fringing  the  water's 
brink  at  this  particular  point.  Beyond  lay  a  beautifully 


IN  THE  PERFUMED  PINE  WOODS.       33 

wooded  valley  in  the  heart  oi'  the  Ardenne  country, 
hemmed  in  by  the  towering  crags  and  lofty  peaks  of 
Brumenwoefel,  bordered  by  the  majestic  forests  ;  a  sunlit 
valley  where  nestled  the  little  watering  town  of  Vielsalin, 
guarded  on  all  sides  by  its  protecting  centaurs. 

At  Elra's  feet,  on  the  placid  bosom  of  the  lake,  the 
golden  water  lilies  were  peeping  above  the  wave,  their 
juicy  fresh  green  leaves  spanning  the  glassy  surface  of 
the  mere ;  water  spiders  skated  here -and  there,  revelling 
in  the  glowing  sunbeams ;  beauties  melted  into  beauties, 
and  all  in  nature  breathed  of  harmony  and  gladness. 
She  watched  the  shepherds  on  the  distant  hills  collect 
their  flocks;  she  saw  the  huntsmen  emerge  from  out 
the  gloom  of  the  forest  trees,  with  their  powder  horns 
and  game  flung  across  their  shoulders ;  and  lower  down, 
amongst  the  willows  near  the  river  that  fed  the  little 
lake,  and  scarce  at  a  stone's  cast  from  her  side,  she  saw 
—what  was  it  that  made  her  start  so  ? — she  saw  a  form, 
perfect  in  its  manly  symmetry  and  beauty,  and  the  next 
moment  she  had  sprung  to  her  feet  from  the  tangle  of 
reeds  and  kingcups,  amongst  which  she  crouched,  with 
a  little  half-strangled  cry  of  delight,  for  she  saw  Eutland 
Borradale  advancing  down  the  pathway  to  greet  her. 

"  Yet,  no  !  He  has  not  seen  me  yet,"  she  murmured. 
"  He  is  on  his  way  to  the  castle,  and  must  needs  pass 
this  way;  so  I  shall  wait  and  see  his  startled  look  with 
— shall  it  be  surprise  ?  Shall  it  be  pleasure?"  she  asked 
of  herself  jealously,  as  half  hidden  by  the  clustering  pine 
trees  she  waited  for — she  knew  not  what;  waited  for 
that  which  she  would  rather  she  had  never  known. 

Yes  !  Her  face  blanched  and  became  set  as  marble, 
as  she  perceived  that  Rutland  Borradale— her  Eutland — 


34  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

was  not  alone  in  his  quiet  ramble  ;  that  bis  deep,  tender 
tones  were  answered  by  a  woman's  voice. 

And  yet,  after  all,  they  were  but  groundless  fears  that 
assailed  her,  for  although  she  had  not  yet  seen  the  lady 
who  accompanied  Kutlaud,  one  glance  at  his  curling  lip 
and  cold  contemptuous  eye  sufficed  to  reassure  her. 

k<  Where  have  I  heard  that  voice  before  ?"  she  cried, 
in  startled  tones,  as,  advancing  down  the  pathway, 
their  voices  became  more  and  more  distinct,  until  she 
could  catch  the  very  words  they  spoke. 

u  Things  have  fared  well  with  your  ladyship  since  that 
day,"  was  heard,  in  the  sarcastic  tones  of  the  young 
man. 

"Yes;  fortune  has  in  a  way  smiled  on  me,"  she 
answered,  sadly ;  "  but  you,  the  friend  and  companion 
of  my  girlhood,  have  condemned  me  to  a  loveless  life." 

u  In  your  estimation,  perhaps,  to  condemn  you  to 
poverty  might  have  proved  a  worse  sin.  Yes,  you  may 
be  thankful  your  lot  is  cast  as  it  is." 

"  Rutland,  you  know  I  am  not  thankful." 

"  You  are  not  thankful  for  anything,  then." 

"  You  are  heartless !" 

The  unknown,  advancing  around  a  corner  in  the  wind- 
ing pathway,  now  suddenly  emerged  into  view. 

There  in  the  sunshine,  standing  amongst  the  quaking 
reeds  and  shimmering  aspens,  she  confronted  the  man 
who  walked  by  her  side,  with  a  look  brimming  with  re- 
proach and — and  love.  It  was  the  deep  fire  of  a  fathom- 
less love  that  spoke  from  her  magnificent  eyes  as  she 
stood  where  the  blue-eyed  forget  me-uots  in  the  marsh 
lands  and  the  kingcups  and  golden  iris  made  a  carpet  of 
ilowers  for  her  dainty  feet. 


IN  THE  PERFUMED  PINE  WOODS.       35 

And  this  lady,  who  and  what  was  she  ?  One  with  the 
lithe,  willowy  grace  of  a  princess  born,  to  rule,  one  en- 
dowed with  all  the  exquisite  tenderness  and  sweet  sym- 
pathy of  womanhood — a  woman  with  a  neck  like  a  swan 
and  sweet,  deep,  pensive  eyes,  velvety  and  dark,  and 
mysterious  as  the  waters  which  gurgled  and  ebbed  on 
the  lake's  flowery  margin.  Soft  and  white  were  the 
water-lilies  she  had  plucked  and  fastened  at  her  throat, 
but  more  like  the  driven  snow  was  her  classic  brow,  more 
lovely  than  all  nature's  other  charms  was  the  naturally 
rich  blush  that  lingered  in  her  dimpling  cheek. 

Who  and  what  was  she  ? 

She  was,  in  a  word,  Adelaide,  Marchioness  of  Ripdale. 

She  whom  of  all  women  Elra  had  most  wished  could 
never  be  thrown  in  Rutland's  path  to  tempt  him  with  her 
glorious  beauty ;  and  here  she  was  deep  in  the  heart  of 
ths  lonely  woods  at  Champisnay  with  him  as  her  only 
attendant,  and,  whether  by  design  or  otherwise,  this 
meeting  had  been  effected  Elra  did  not  dare  to  ask  her- 
self. 

"  Rutland,"  said  the  woman,  standing  in  his  pathway, 
"  do  you  remember  the  lakes  at  the  Abbey  and  our  happy 
life  amongst  the  heathery  haunts  of  the  coot  and  water- 
fowl, where  we  used  to  catch  the  little  fish  and  trap  the 
frogs  and  water  rats !"  Then,  seeing  he  turned  his  head 
away,  she  added : 

"  Can  you  forget  ?" 

The  last  words  were  spoken  so  slowly,  so  softly,  with 
such ^a  passionate  ring  of  regret  that  even  Elra,  listen- 
ing, thought,  with  a  twinge  of  pain,  that  they  sounded 
sweet  as  the  wanton  zephyrs  playing  among  the  harp- 
strings  of  old. 


36  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,    MEN. 

Yes!  alas!  to  see  Adelaide  was  to  love  her,  and  slowly 
Rutland's  hand  went  out  to  her's  in  reconciliation,  their 
eyes  met  and  lingered— and  something  there  was  in  that 
prolonged  glance  that  made  the  unhappy  watcher  recoil 
as  though  struck  by  an  invisible  hand. 

"  O  God  1"  came  in  broken  accents  from  her  stone  cold 
lips,  "  I  have  been  strangely  mistaken  !  His  words,  his 
looks  were  false.  He  loved  me  not.  He  never,  never 
loved  me.  How  could  I  have  imagined  it  so  !" 

"  Yes,"  continued  Adelaide,  "  as  brother  and  sister 
were  we  then  and  we  were  happy  dreamers ;  but  now 
you  have  grown  to  love  the  light  of  other  eyes  and  the3r 
have  grown  for  you  lovely  as  the  starry  midnight. 
Whilst  I " 

"  Adelaide ! "  he  cried,  imperiously,  but  now  she  turned 
from  him. 

With  the  quick  daring  of  a  blinded,  long-suppressed 
passion  he  drew  the  queenly  head  to  his  breast  and 
looked  long  and  searchingly  in  her  eyes. 

"Adelaide,"  he  cried,  his  tall,  manly  form  quivering 
from  head  to  foot,  iu  every  fibre,  iu  every  muscle.  "  I 
know  of  no  loveliness  to  equal  the  unholy  depths  of 
darkness,  the  unfathomable  mystery  of  your  eyes." 

';  What  can  their  unfathomable  mysteries  mean  for 
you  F  she  breathed,  with  a  ring  of  almost  defiance  in  her 
tones. 

"  The  fire  in  your  eyes,  Adelaide,  has  made  the  star- 
light of  my  boyhood !  The  passion-flame  living  in  them 
now  must  be  the  beacon  to  wreck  or  save  my  manhood  ! 
Which  will " 

But  the  strain  upon  that  listener  amongst  the  trees 
was  too  much  j  in  that  moment,  seeing  what  she  saw, 


I.Y  THE  PERFUMED  PINE  WOODS.       37 

something  seemed  to  tear  her  heart  down,  down,  down  ; 
and  she  knew  that  all  of  golden  happiness  and  sweet 
love  and  faith  had  gone  from  her  life  forever.  With  not 
so  much  as  a  murmur,  therefore,  she  fell  nervelessly  in 
the  rank  and  tangled  grasses,  her  senses  gradually  leav- 
ing her  until  all  became  cloudy  and  indistinct  and  her 
limbs  grew  to  the  coldness  of  marble. 


38  HER  2yLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


CHAPTER  V. 
A  QUESTION  AND  ITS  ANSWER. 

"Who  and  what  was  Adelaide,  Marchioness  of  Rip- 
dale,  before  her  marriage?" 

The  question  was  calmly  addressed  by  Elra  Brookley 
to  her  hostess  next  morning  as  that  lady  and  she  linger- 
ed over  a  late  breakfast.  Murray  Cresenworth  was  also 
there,  toying  with  some  game  pie  and  other  dainties,  and 
making  a  brave  show  of  being  ravenous,  although  in 
truth  he  had  not  touched  any  food  that  morning,  tie 
had  been  coaxed  into  staying  at  the  Castle  for  the  night, 
and  could  not  sleep  for  the  haunting  thought  of  Elra's 
dead  white  face,  and  icy  hand,  last  evening  when  he 
had  rejoined  her  in  the  woods  by  the  lake.  Something, 
he  told  himself,  had  transpired  to  have  effected  so  start- 
ling and  sad  a  change  in  Elra's  whole  being,  something 
very  untoward  it  must  have  been,  for  her  spirits  of  tbe 
morning  would  have  enabled  her  to  have  shaken  off  any- 
thing trivial;  and  Murray's  brain  was  exercised  vainly 
to  fathom  the  difficulty.  This  morning,  too,  the  cold  list- 
lessness  of  her  manner  would  give  one  the  idea  that  her 
very  heart  was  dead  within  her,  that  she  cared  for  nothing 
like  she  did  yesterday  morning,  that  in  fact  the  world 
had  come  to  a  standstill  for  her. 

Could  it  be  she  has  seen  Borradale,  or  what  can 
have  happened  ?  thought  Murray ;  he  gave  little  cre- 
dence to  her  explanation  of  having  fallen  asleep  in  the 


A    QUESTION  AND  ITS  ANSWER,  39 

woods,  and  having  been  awakened  by  bis  calling  ber  by 
name,  wben  be  bad  almost  despaired  of  finding  ber. 

"  You  look  cold  tbis  morning,  dear,"  said  Madame  de 
Montespaire,  kindly.  "  I  fear  that  you  must  bave  taken 
a  cbill  yesterday  during  your  nap  in  tbe  woods.  About 
tbe  lovely  Marchioness,  did  you  ask  me?  Wby  dear, 
sbe  was  tbe  daughter  of  a  man  of  wealth  and  note,  whose 
name  I  don't  remember,  and  was  reared  in  tbe  lap  of 
luxury.  She  was  a  famous  shot,  a  dasbing  horsewoman  ; 
and,  by  the  way,  that  reminds  me,"  she  said,  addressing 
Murray,  "  did  sbe  not,  or  was  it  only  rumor,  get  a  young 
man  of  good  standing,  Borradale  bis  name  was,  a 
nephew  of  tbe  Earl  of  Darcliffe,  I  think,  into  rather  an 
ugly  pickle  by  one  of  her  usual  daring  feats  of  horseman- 
ship. I  never  beard  the  rights  of  tbe  story,  but  I  believe 
it  was  risky  in  more  ways  tban  one.  She  rode  in  Dar- 
cliffe races  in  a  jockey's  colors  and  costume,  pulled  her 
borse,  wbicb  cbanced  to  be  tbe  favorite,  and  designedly 
lost  the  race.  Young  Borradale  was  made  accountable 
by  tbe  jockey  club  for  the  misdemeanor,  as  it  was  he 
who  bad  abetted  tbe  fraud,  by  giving  ber  tbe  mount  on 
tbe  favorite." 

The  story  of  any  little  scandal  never  loses  its  piquant 
flavor,  so  l:ng  as  there  is  a  woman  to  recount  it.  At 
the  name  of  Borradale  Elra  gave  a  painful  start,  but 
seeing,  or  feeling  rather,  that  Creseinfoith's  eyes  were 
on  ber,  sbe  asked  calmly. 

"Borradale  is  then  the  name  of  tbis  nephew  of  the 
Earl  of  Darcliffe  ?" 

"Yes,  dear,  and  I  believe  be  bas  been  greatly  im- 
poverished since  then,  as  bis  uncle  bas  cast  him  off,  and 
it  was  tbis  that  induced  the  present  Marchioness  to  give 


40  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

him  tip  without  another  thought,  for  I  believe  they  were 
rather  attached  to  each  other  previously,  and  in  fact  had 
run  wild  as  boy  and  girl  together." 

She  might  have  rambled  on  forever,  as  Elra  was  too 
much  crushed  apparently  to  allow  of  her  uttering  a  syl- 
lable, and  Murray's  breath  being  fairly  taken  away  by 
the  news,  each  word  of  which  he  felt  drove  a  dagger 
through  the  gentle  womanly  heart  beating  within  a  few 
paces  of  him ;  but  Monsieur  de  Montespaire,  who 
despised  late  breakfasts  in  the  abstract,  and  all  who 
took  part  in  them,  entered  at  this  moment  with  a  gun  in 
his  hand. 

"Heady  far  the  chase,  eh,  Cresen worth  ?  If  you  care 
to  come,  I  have  a  good  double  barrel  at  your  disposal, 
and  we  can  have  some  good  sport  through  our  patches  of 
forestland." 

But  our  carpet  knight,  after  timidly  consulting  Elra's 
eyes,  in  which  he  read  somethiug  of  encouragement, 
preferred  to  linger  with  the  ladies.  Everything  that  he 
could  possibly  devise  was  done  during  the  course  of  that 
morning  to  chase  the  cloud  from  Elra's  brow,  and  with 
such  success  that  at  length  her  little  ripples  of  laughter 
sounded  nearly  as  bright  and  ringing  as  ever.  It  was 
in  this  happier  frame  of  mind,  into  which  his  gay  re- 
partee had  coaxed  Elra,  that  Murray  and  she  strolled 
down  the  avenue  with  the  arching  trees  overhead,  and 
the  wind  soughing  in  the  branches,  prepared,  as  they 
were  fully,  to  enjoy  the  lovely  summer  weather  iu  each 
other's  company.^ 

However  they  were  destined  to  have  a  slight  break  in 
the  monotony  of  so  delightful  a  programme,  for  com- 
ing towards  them  fioui  the  tower  gate  which  guarded 


A    QUESTION  AND  ITS  ANSWER.  41 

the  entrance  to  the  detnense,  they  perceived  a  young  man, 
whoso  steps  were  hastened  as  he  caught  sight  of  them. 

It  was  Rutland  Borradale. 

They  met,  and  Murray  watched  Elra  Brookley's  face 
keenly,  but  it  was  not  to  be  read.  With  a  happy  little  rip- 
ple of  laughter  she  extended  her  hand  to  their  visitor,  and 
the  next  few  minutes  were  made  very  bright  with  allu- 
sions to  pleasant  memories,  and  delightful  anecdotes, 
and  repartee  from  all  sides,  Then,  in  a  lull  of  the  con- 
versation, Rutland  Borradale,  turning  towards  Elra, 
with  eyes  that  softened  with  deepest  tenderness,  as  he 
saw  her  fresh  young  beauty  looking  lovlier  than  perhaps 
ever  before,  under  the  swaying  boughs  of  the  blossom 
heaped  chestnuts. 

"You  got  my  letter  I  see  by  your  answer,  but  you  did  not 
tell  me  half  what  I  longed  to  know,"  he  whispered,  bending 
towards  her,  but  loud  enough  for  Cresen worth  to  hear. 

"  Will  you  grant  me  a  delicious  long  afternoon  alone  at 
your  feet,  dearest?"  This  was  breathed  very  low,  but 
sweet  and  clear  as  a  bell  rang  her  careless  answer. 

"  The  horses  await  us  at  the  door;  Mr.  Creseuworth 
and  I  have  an  engagement  to  ride  this  afternoon." 

For  a  moment  he  was  staggered  by  her  answer,  and 
grew  pale  to  the  lips,  his  eyes  darkening  in  anger,  but 
the  next  instant  he  had  forced  himself  to  be  calm,  and 
drawing  himself  up  proudly,  he  lifted  his  hat  with  all 
the  freezing  hauteur  Avhich  the  bluest  blood  of  England 
can  best  assume  at  will. 

"  It  must  be  as  you  decide,"  and  in  a  moment  he  had 
turned  on  his  heel. 

"Ah,"  thought  Murray,  drawing  a  deeper  breath 
than  usual,  u  it  is  as  I  conjectured." 


HER  PL  A  Y  THINGS,   MEAr. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  WOMAN'S  RESOLUTION. 

How  tiny,  how  inconceivably  small  is  onr  human 
nature  \vith  its  aspirations,  its  pursuits,  its  little  glories, 
its  trials,  its  infinitesimal  Bufferings.  Look  out  through 
the  cold  twilight  at  the  grey  villages  clustering  about 
the  mountain's  brow ;  what  a  speck  each  hut ;  what 
a  palmful  each  village:  Yet  within,  those  huts  live 
human  beings,  t;iller,  stronger,  perhaps  more  noble  than 
we  who  survey  them.  Within  those  villages  palpitates 
the  heart,  the  strength,  the  stir,  the  workings  of  human 
life.  And  far,  far  above  all,  the  immense  Being  who  guides 
and  doubtless  looks  down,  and  if  his  eye  were  not  All- 
seeing,  would  that  Eye  detect  us  in  our  sufferings;  if  His 
mind  were  not  all  perceiving,  would  he  ken  that  we  poor 
beings  lived,  or  groaned,  or  toiled? 

And  we,  perhaps,  if  we  sometimes  soared  beyond  our  little 
lives  on  looking  back,  how  much  of  poignancy  would  our 
griefs  and  miseries  lose  from  the  far  off  sphere  from 
which  we  might  survey  them.  But  it  is  hard  to  rise 
thus  above  the  cruelties  and  griefs  of  life,  and  in  the 
ocean  of  sublimity  forget  them. 

Somewhat  of  these  saddening  realities  passed  through 
Elra's  mind,  as  with  a  feeling  of  utter  loneliness  she  stole 
down  toward  where  a  line  of  poplars  marked  the  pro- 
gress of  the  brook  watering  the  lawn  at  Montelarde.  It 
was  a  balmy  summer  afternoon  ;  scarce  a  ripple  of  wind 


A    WOMAN'S  RESOLUTION.  43 

was  there  to  stir  the  leaves  of  the  poplars  that  shivered 
through  the  calmest  day.  The  shade  of  the  oaks  was 
dark  and  cool,  and  the  sweet  smelling  hay  was  freshly 
strewn  upon  the  sward,  when,  with  a  novel  in  her  hand, 
she  lay  down  upon  the  rugs  and  cushions  provided  by 
the  attentive  Cresenworth  and  began  to  read  some  of 
Madame's  light  literature.  She  had  complained  of  head- 
ache through  the  morning  and  had  entreated  for  a  rest 
in  the  long  and  sultry  afternoon,  when  Madame  would  be 
making  a  somewhat  distant  call;  and  now  with  heavy  lids, 
which  unwillingly  did  their  duty,  she  crept  languidly 
through  a  page  of  a  very  racy  French  novel.  Gradu- 
ally her  eyelids  drooped  and  she  listened  with  a  shud- 
der to  the  dismally  weird  sound  amongst  the  poplars. 
Those  ghostly  trees  that  in  the  cold  twilight  freeze  the 
blood  with  suggestions  of  the  suicide  and  midnight  mur- 
der, which  they  appear  to  have  seen  enacted  beneath 
their  branches  and  for  which  they  seemed  ever  to  shiver 
and  weep.  Elra  revelled  in  the  gloomy  thoughts 
brought  by  the  tremor  of  those  silver-grey  leaves.  There 
is  always  a  certain  pleasure  in  sharing  Nature's  gloom, 
very  different  from  the  endurance  of  one's  own  sorrow. 
Elra  was  awakened  from  her  reverie  by  a  footfall  on  the 
turf  beside,  and  a  voice  ringing  in  her  ears,  a  voice  that 
was  always  destined  to  thrill  her.  "  Alone  !"  She  did 
not  need  to  raise  her  head  to  recognize  the  intruder.  Too 
well  she  knew  the  well-built  frame  and  the  face  which 
charmed,  though  scarcely  more  handsome  than  manly 
looking.  There  are  those  who  hold  that  grey  eyes  are 
treacherous.  Certain  it  is  they  have  the  greatest  power 
to  soften  or  darken,  to  lighten  or  harden,  of  any  color,  be 
it  brown,  blue  or  black.  Dark  grey  starry  eyes,  which 


44  HER  PL  A  Y  THINGS,   MEN. 

changed  with  every  word,  a  well  cut  profile  and,  sur- 
passing all,  a  sensitive  sweetness  of  expression  playing 
around  the  full,  ripe  lips,  about  which  lurked  great  capa- 
bility for  humor.  Such  were  the  features  whose  memory 
came  crowding  back  to  Elra  as  she,  with  determined 
bent  head  and  averted  eyes,  caught  his  first  low  words. 
"Elra,"  he  said  iu  sorrowful  tones,  which  brought  her 
back  to  the  happy  da3~s,  when  together  they  had  chased 
the  pretty  corn-crakes  through  the  meadows  at  Offington, 
irrespective  of  damage  done  to  the  silvery  grasses  • 
"you  are  cold  as  an  iceberg;  why?" 

A  little  tearless  sob  broke  from  her  as  she  viewed  him, 
tall  and  manly  looking,  with  his  thrilling,  soft  eyes  bent 
in  pleading  to  hers,  and  not  venturing,  as  was  his  wont, 
to  touch  her  hand  with  ever  so  timid  a  caress,  or  to  pass 
his  fingers  with  even  the  gentlest  tenderness  through  her 
braided  locks.  Catching  no  answer  from  her  lips  he  bent 
low  over  her,  till  his  whispered  words  reached  her  ear : 

"  Dave  you  forgotten  your  love  f ' 

Eis  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder  with  what  she  chose 
to  deem  the  tenderness  of  an  elder  brother  for  the  sister 
of  whom  he  is  proud.  That  gentle  caress  as  he  well  knew, 
could  not  fail  to  thrill  her,  and  half  unwillingly  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  his.  Yes,  Rutland  Borradale  she  knew  had 
power  to  kill  all  that  was  lovely,  and  sweet,  and  bright 
in  her  life,  to  turn  all  things  forever  to  blackest  night. 
She  knew  she  worshipped  this  young  man  standing 
above  her  with  a  love  which  is  known  but  once  in  a  life- 
time, and  which,  when  killed,  drags  down  the  heart  to 
bitter  death  or  rather  petrefactiou  unfailing  with  it. 

"Rutland!"  His  name  broke  from  her  lips  in  a  half 
groan,  and  shuddering  with  pain  as  she  looked  at  him, 


A    WOMAN'S  RESOLUTION.  45 

she  crouched  lower  on  the  ground  at  his  feet.  In  an 
instant  he  was  on  his  knees  with  his  arm  about  her. 

"  Elra,  what  is  it  grieves  you  f  he  murmured  gently; 
but  recoiling  from  his  caress  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  By  what  right  does  your  arm  encircle  me  now1?"  she 
said  with  mocking  curl  of  the  lip.  "  By  the  right  of  love, 
I  suppose.  Elra,"  he  cried  in  scathing  tones,  "  I  must 
conclude  that  you  are  not  your  usual  self  to-day."  Then 
with  all  his  mauly  dignity  reasserting  itself,  he  added : 
"  I  suppose  you  remember  that  you  have  promised  to  be 
my  wife  ?"  "  I  remember,  ah,  too  well !  Rutland,"  she 
said,  more  gently,  choking  back  a  sob,  "  it  is  only  fair  to 
you  that  our  engagement  shall  from  this  moment  be 
canceled.  This  is  yours,"  as  she  drew  the  crescent  of 
diamonds  from  her  finger.  "From  this  hour  your  love 
can  fly  untrammeled  whither  it  wills. 

"And  the  meaning  of  this?"  "That  can  be  told  in 
four  words,  you  yourself  wish  it."  "  And  my  answer  lies 
in  three,  I  do  not."  lt  You  do  not  love  me,  Rutland  ?"  The 
question  was  breathed  in  fear  and  the  answer  came 
slowly,  calmly,  coldly,  "  I  do  not."  Something  seemed 
to  strike  her  as  with  a  glove  of  steel  and  she  staggered, 
but  raising  her  eyes  bravely  to  his  she  asked:  "Then, 
why  dare  you  to  wish  that  our  lives  should  be  joined1?" 
"  Because  you  yourself  wish  it,"  he  rejoined  coolly.  With 
flashing  eye  and  flushed  cheek  she  drew  herself  up 
proudly.  "Coward,"  she  cried,  "I  would  rather  see 
myself  dead  than  be  your  wife  "  A  dark  light  sprang 
into  Lis  eyes  as  he  seized  her  hands  and  held  them 
forcibly  at  her  side  whilst  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  with  all  the  darkest  passions  that  human  hearts 
can  know.  "  You  are  mad,"  he  cried  ;  "  what  has  come 


46  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

to  you  ?  You  have  loved  me,  you  love  me  still,  as  only  a 
true,  brave,  loyal  woman  can,  and  you  dare  to  tell  me, 
1  go,  I  will  have  you  no  longer  by  my  side.' "  Here  he 
paused  and  his  tone  softened.  "  You  have  said  it  once; 
but  dare  you  say  it  again."'  His  hand  released  hers, 
his  arm  stole  around  her  neck  and  his  eyes  sought  hers 
in  the  mute  eloquence  that  he  was  perfectly  aware  never 
failed  to  thrill  her,  and  for  one  weak,  delicious  moment 
hers  answered  his. 

lie  had  conquered;  he  knew  he  held  her  captive  once 
again  in  that  moment  of  sweet  intoxication,  and  she 
trembled  as  she  remembered  all,  and  thought  of  her 
resolution  so  weak,  so  weak  when  his  soft  eye  held  hers 
in  thrall. 

"Rutland,  "  she  breathed,  "  you  have  been  so  cruel,  so 
treacherous 

"Anything  else,  darling?"  he  whispered,  interrupting 
her  catalogue  of  his  virtues.  His  cheek  was  now  press- 
ed against  hers,  his  eyes  dancing  with  humor,  his  tem- 
per unruffled  as  ever. 

This  was  the  man  who  with  his  pliant,  ever-ready  smile 
had  stolen  the  entirety  of  her  essentially  womanly  heart, 
leaving,  alas,  the  dire  consequences  of  that  heft  to  be 
learned  only  long  years  after. 

The  poor  little  struggling  bird  taken  in  the  net  which 
her  wings  with  all  their  little  fluttering  efforts  could 
not  break,  as  a  last  resource,  called  to  her  help  all  her 
resolution.  She  thought  of  all  her  vows,  never  to  rejoice  in 
her  recreant  lover's  smile  again,  never  to  allow  her  pulses 
to  throb  as  his  lips  met  hers  ;  she  thought  of  all  this  and 
of  all  that  was  past,  and  with  a  superb  effort  she  drew 
herself  away  from  his  arms  as  she  thought  forever. 


A    WOMAN'S  RESOLUTION.  47 

"Rutland,"  she  said  firmly,  "our  wedding  will  never 
take  place;  it  is  impossible!  Here  are  your  diamonds; 
they  were,  I  believe,  the  pledges  of  your  sincerity."  This 
.she  could  not  refrain  from  saying  a  little  bitterly,  adding  : 
"  We  are,  remember,  in  future,  strangers." 

"  That,  then,  is  your  final  decision, "  he  retorted  in  chill- 
ing tones,  his  eyes  darkening  in  anger. 

"  It  is !"    She  did  not  flinch  as  she  said  it. 

"  My  wish  can  only  be  that  you  may  not  live  to  repent 
ifc  bitterly,"  he  said  coldly ;  "  but  I  would  think  a  little  be- 
fore I  should  sacrifice  my  life  to  be  wrecked  as  you  are 
doing.  Think  !  think,  Elra  !  you  are  young,  you  are 
beautiful,  and,  alas  !  for  yourself  you  love  me." 

"  Alas !  But  this  I  remember,  only  when  you  will  kneel 
to  me  in  days  to  come  and  cry, i  Elra,  I  love  you  as  I  have 
loved  none  other;  I  live  but  to  unsay  those  cruel  words 
of  mine;  I  shall  die  if  need  be  to  prove  my  love,'  but  it 
will  then  be  too  late!  too  late!"  She  covered  her  ikce 
with  her  hands  as  she  sank  on  the  rugs  again  and  groaned 
aloud. 

"  Elra !" 

"Rutland,  leave  me,  I  command  it,"  she  almost  shriek- 
ed as  he  stood  irresolute  not  venturing  to  approach,  not 
wishing  to  go,  and  with  the  fitful  fires  of  auger  lighting 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Be  it  so !"  he  cried  in  withering  tones,  as  seizing  the 
crescent  of  diamonds  which  for  two  long  years  had  been 
such  an  object  of  tenderness  to  Elra,  he  flung  it  con- 
temptuously in  the  stream  and  was  gone  ere  that  inde- 
pendent young  woman  dared  to  look  again  in  his  face. 

Gone!  did  I  say?  No,  not  gone;  he  had  caught  sight 
ere  he  turned  away  of  the  deathly  pallor  creeping  over 


48  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

her  cheek  and  lips,  and  in  an  instant,  forgetting  all  but 
his  tender  feeling  for  her,  he  had  flung  himself  down  be- 
side her,  drawing  her  swiftly  to  him,  and  she  did  not 
resist. 

She  had  felt  the  bitterness  Of  parting  with  the  man  she 
loved;  death  itself,  she  thought,  might  perhaps  come  less 
bitter,  and  now  that  he  was  by  her  side  again,  she  yield- 
ed up  her  lips  to  his  quite  submissively  for  such  a 
would-be  independent  young  lady. 

"Forgive  me,  little  darling,  I  cannot  live  without  you. 
The  words  I  spoke  were  but  tittered  in  frenzy,  for,  in 
very  fact,  my  manhood's  noblest  devotion  is  now,  and  ever 
has  been  yours.  Darling,  I  shall  give  you  life-long  proof 
of  it. "  And  she  believed  him. 

Slowly  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  unflinchingly  as  any 
judge,  met  his  burning  glance,  but  something  spoken  by 
those  impassioned  eyes  made  her  own  white  lids  to  quiver 
an 4  droop. 

"Why  do  you  change  your  mind  so  quickly,"  she  re- 
torted with  a  brave  assumption  of  indifference.  "  Who 
are  you,  that  you  seem  to  have  the  privilege  of  moulding 
the  course  of  my  life  to  your  will?" 

"  Elra,  I  am  the  man?"  he  said  not  arrogantly,  but  with 
the  inspired  eloquence  of  a  deep  passion,  "  to  whom  your 
whole  soul  has  gone  forth  and  yielded  submission,  and 
who,  in  return,  worships  you,  adores  you,  will  die  for 
you." 

He  had  conquered  indeed,  doubts  and  suspicions  were 
flung  to  the  winds,  for  in  his  strong  unyielding  arms  she 
breathed  half  in  fear,  half  in  ecstacy  of  love  and  gladness. 

"  Be  it  so ! "  And  their  wedding  after  all  was  fixed  for 
three  days  from  thence. 


A    WOMAN'S  RESOLUTION.  49 

Out  into  the  moonlight  she  wandered  that  night,  Elra 
with  the  shadowy  eyes  and  the  brow  stamped  with  intel- 
lect, which  so  many  women  had  envied  her;  out  she 
wandered  to  where,  across  the  star  illumined  lake,  a  tiny 
shallop  glided,  cutting  with  a  soft  and  murmuring  ripple 
the  crystal  bosom  of  the  placid  water,  where  deep  down 
in  the  glassy  wavelets  she  could  see  the  glittering  con- 
stellations shimmer  like  diamonds  set  in  a  sea  of  sap- 
phire, whilst  above  in  regal  beauty  Diana's  crescent  sail- 
ed, showering  her  floods  of  frosted,  silvery  light  over 
smiling  hill  and  towering  mountain,  frowning  crag  and 
glowering  fortress;  wrapping  the  far  away  blue  peaks 
in  hoary  grandeur,  whilst  her  softened  beams  the  while 
descended  on  the  dancing  wraters  in  the  valleys  below, 
playing  in  and  out  among&t  the  darkling  shadows  where 
the  weeping  willows  hang  forever  their  light  tresses  over 
the  mysterious  eddying  pools. 

"And  his  love,  like  these  things,  was  sworn  to  last 
forever  and  forever,"  she  murmured.  "O,  Elra!  Elra! 
Elra !  you  are  his  slave.  He  loves  you  not !  yet,  as  long 
as  life  is  yours,  you  must  bend  and  kiss  the  hand  which 
masters  you,  for  you  cannot  live  without  him  !  " 

"No,"  she  continued,  clasping  her  cold  hands  together, 
<•  I  am  his  slave.  Come  what  will,  I  cannot  live  without 
him." 


50  HER  PLAYTHINGS,  MEN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHO      SAW     IT? 

It  is  the  morning  of  the  wedding — a  bright,  glorious 
morning,  from  whose  sky  the  early  tinges  of  crimson, 
and  purple,  and  emerald  have  scarce  faded ;  a  morning 
redolent  with  joy  and  blessing;  a  morning  which  had 
been  looked  forward  to  with  intense  feelings  of  awe  and 
dread  by  the  proud,  courted  beauty,  Elra,  whose  very 
smile  seemed  only  needed  to  charm  all  men  to  her  feet; 
a  morning  that  had  been  looked  forward  to  by  Rutland 
Borradale  with  hope  and  gladness,  for  he  was  very 
proud  and  very  fond,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  of  the 
beautiful  American,  girl  whom  he  was  soon  to  call  his 
wife. 

Elra  at  a  quarter  to  eleven  had  a  merry  group  around 
her,  and  already  much  that  should  be  done  to  her  toilet 
had  been  done.  It  was  to  be  a  strictly  private  affair, 
but  Madame  de  Montespaire  could  not  refrain  from  ask- 
ing some  chosen  friends  to  celebrate  the  occasion  by 
lunching  with  them  after  the  ceremony.  "  You  see,  our 
dear  Elra  prefers  it  so,"  said  Madame  to  one  of  her  pet 
lady  callers,  "  and  in  the  existing  state  of  relations  be- 
tween the  groom  and  his  uncle,  the  Earl  of  Darcliife,  it 
is  no  doubt  best  that  it  should  be  so ;  but  we  shall  have 
our  own  little  time  for  gaiety  afterwards ;  and  quite  a 
number,  amongst  others  the  beautiful  Marchioness,  have 
accepted  invitations  to  be  present  at  an  unpretending 


WffJ   SAW  IT?  51 

little  spread  after  the  young  people  have  settled  all  about 
their  future.  Be  sure  you  come,  luncheon  will  be  served 
early,  twelve  is  the  hour  fixed." 

In  the  meantime,  eleven  had  struck,  and  all  was 
apparently  ready,  but  faces  began  to  look  grave,  and  it 
was  whispered  around,  "The  bridegroom,  where  is  he?" 

EIra,  chilled  to  the  heart  at  what  she  deemed  a  slight, 
had  herself  asked  it  in  a  whisper  more  than  once,  and  at 
last,  with  growing  fear  and  horror,  her  lips  had  refused 
to  ask  it  any  more.  A  quarter  past  eleven,  half-past 
eleven,  and  the  ashen  color  of  Elra's  face  was  disagree- 
able to  see. 

"She and  he,  I  suppose,  have  between  them  planned 
this  humiliation  for  me.  Oh,  Rutland,  it  would  have 
been  more  manly  to  have  taken  back  the  ring  you  gave, 
and  accepted  your  release  there  and  then.  But  no,"  she 
cried  bitterly,  "  he  would  have  been  an  idiot  to  have 
thrown  away  his  claim  on  my  fortune,  when  it  is  for 
my  wealth  alone  ho  is  marrying  me.  Murray,"  she 
stammered,  with  white  lips,  as  that  gentleman  approach- 
ed her,  "Is— Has " 

Murray  shook  his  head,  but  could  not  trust  himself  to 
say  anything. 

"Then,"  she  cried,  passionately,  "tell  everybody  to 
go  away  again;  there  will  be  no  wedding."  So  saying, 
she  tore  the  veil  and  wreath  from  her  head  and  flung 
them  far  from  her. 

"  The  Marchioness  of  Ripdale  has  arrived,  my  dear," 
said  Madame  de  Montespaire,  approaching,  and  show- 
ing on  her  good  natured  face  her  utter  perplexity  as  to 
what  to  think  or  say.  "  Where  is  Mr.  Borradale  ?  What 
can  have  become  of  Rutland,  dear?  I  do  not  know 


52  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

what  to  think.  Something  grave  must  have  occurred 
or  he  would  have  let  us  know.  But  there  is  time  yet," 
she  added,  encouragingly;  "we  can  keep  our  guests 
waiting  some  little  time,"  and  she  hurried  away  to  enter- 
tain them.  "I  fear,"  thought  Elra,  bitterly,  "there 
may  indeed  be  time  enough,  but  there  will  be  no  bride- 
groom to-day.  Oh,  if  I  had  but  trusted  poor  Murray, 
this  would  never  have  happened." 

"Poor77  Murray  chanced  to  be  by  her  side,  and  his 
gray  eyes,  full  of  tenderness  and  love,  sought  hers. 

"Murray,"  she  breathed,  almost  beside  herself  with 
mortified  feelings  and  pride,  "why  did  I  say  'No'  to  your 
whispered  words  that  evening?  Why  did  you  let  me?" 

With  a  great  wave  of  joy  sweeping  through  his  soul, 
Murray  quickly,  daringly,  caught  her  to  his  heart.  "I 
will  never  a.ain  let  you  say  'No,'  my  darling,"  and  to 
his  whispered  words  this  time  came  the  answer  from  her 
smiling  lips,  "  Yes." 

But  ten  minutes  later  the  agony  in  her  eyes  belied  her 
words,  as  the  procession  moved  forward  towards  the  ora- 
tory of  the  castle.  "Fifteen  minutes  more  and  what 
fate  awaits  me?  Oh,  if  he  would  but  come!"  She 
paused,  she  lingered,  under  any  trivial  pretext  that  came 
to  her  mind  ;  but  no  sign  was  there  of  her  recreant  lover 
appearing  even  at  the  last  hour,  and  Elra's  soul  was 
crushed  to  earth  at  the  thought. 

"But  no,"  she  cried,  "events  shall  not  conquer  me. 
I  am  the  daughter  of  a  race  which  has  ever  valued 
courage,  of  a  noble  race,  and  I  shall  show  them  that 
such  an  one  can  still  be  proud.  The  slight  must  not 
crush  me;"  and  with  a  queenly  step  she  advanced  up 
the  centre  of  the  chapel  with  Murray  by  her  side. 


WHO   SAW  IT?  53 

And  how  fared  it  the  •while  with  Rutland  Borradale  ? 
As  a  matter  of  form — merely  empty  form,  he  thought — 
be  sent  word  to  his  uncle  informing  him  of  his  inten- 
tions, and  asking,  for  the  sake  of  his  future  bride,  some 
little  token  of  friendliness  between  them.  Judge,  there- 
fore, of  his  surprise  when  he  received  a  wire  back  : 

"I  shall  place  Darcliffe  Castle  at  the  disposal  of  you  and 
your  bride  for  the  mouth  following  your  wedding,  and  I 
cordially  invite  you  to  spend  your  first  happy  days  to- 
gether there.  I  am  going  to  Norway  for  the  fishing,  so 
you  will  be  entirely  undisturbed,  and  you  cannot  find  a 
prettier  retreat  for  your  young  wife.  I  shall  be  with  you 
at  the  wedding  if  you  state  what  time."  It  was  signed 
merely  with  his  initials. 

No  word  he  mentioned  of  what  had  passed  between 
them.  It  was  as  though  he  wished  to  exclude  the  disa- 
greeable phantom  of  a  by  gone  day  from  his  mental  vision. 

The  Earl  of  Darcliffe,  truth  to  say,  had  been  as  in- 
tensely proud  of  his  promising  young  nephew  as  an 
utterly  selfish  nature  can  be,  and  new  that  he  heard 
that  amongst  all  the  suitors  and  gallants  who  had  sighed 
at  the  feet  of  this  American  heiress,  renowned  equally 
for  beauty,  good  breeding,  and  wealth,  Rutland  Borradale 
had  alone  been  the  accepted  one,  the  pride  of  family  and 
blood  returned,  and  eagerly  he  opened  his  arms  to  his 
long-banished  nephew.  This  communication  of  the 
Earl's  reached  Rutland  Borradale  only  the  evening  be- 
fore his  wedding,  on  his  return  from  seeing  his  bride- 
elect,  when  he  had  arranged  with  her  all  the  necessary 
particulars  for  the  morrow. 

"The dear  old  uncle,"  he  said  with  full  heart,  " I  al- 
ways knew  ho  was  a  brick,  and  didn't  mean  it  at  heart; 


54  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

and  oh,  won't  it  be  a  surprise  and  delight  to  my  sweet 
little  Elra !  sbe  darling  little  thing  is  too  good  for  me. 
But  she  loves  me  and  she  is  the  sweetest  little  woman 
ever  trod,  so  we  might  as  well  have  things  as  they  are." 

In  the  meantime  he  sent  word  to  his  uncle  in  Brus- 
sells  to  be  down  at  ten  the  next  morning  so  as  to  be  in 
good  time,  as  the  ceremony  should  come  off  at  eleven. 
Bnt  in  the  morning  came  a  telegram  from  104  Boulevarde 
des  Espangnols  : 

"  Come,  quickly,  your  uncle  has  met  with  an  accident. 
Jsmay  de  la  Roche. "  In  half  an  hour  he  was  by  his 
uncle's  sido,  whom  he  found  suffering  from  a  fractured 
bone  in  one  of  his  feet,  but  who  otherwise  was  not  seri- 
ously hurt.  He,  Rutland,  had  telegraphed  to  his  fiancee 
on  arriving  at  the  Boulevarde,  and  had,  at  his  hostess' 
kind  persuasion,  given  her  the  telegram  to  look  after. 

"  Maiie,  dear,"  said  Madame  de  la  Eoche,  "  tell  Bogai  tz 
to  take  this  message  around. "  Pretty  Marie  as  she  trip- 
ped away  on  her  mission  had  tho  curiosity  to  look  at  the 
address,  and,  meeting  with  her  sister  Odile,  they  mis- 
chievously determined  to  withhold  it  until  the  evening, 
when  they  intended  leisurely  to  forward  it. 

a  It  is  for  the  American  heiress,  and  we  owe  her  one 
point,  you  know.  She  can  wait  for  her  telegram." 

They  were  malicious,  these  girls,  and  had  been  doubt- 
lessly much  nettled  by  Murray  Cresen worth's  behavior 
the  night  of  the  De  Eothsleind'sball;  but  they  were  not 
really  wicked,  and  if  they  could  but  have  foreseen  half 
of  the  grave  consequences  of  that  unjust  deed  of  theirs, 
they  would  have  parted  with  Rutland  Borradale's  tele- 
gram more  quickly  than  if  it  burnt  their  fingers. 

It  arrived  duly  in  the  evening  and  contained  the  words: 


WHO   SAW  IT?  ')•) 

"Postpone  the  ceremony  until  twelve.  I  cannot  be 
down  until  11.30.  My  uncle  has  met  with  an  accident. 
R.  Borradale." 

Bat  in  the  meantime  what  had  happened  H 

What  was  it  that  greeted  the  eyes  of  the  groom  elect 
when  he  made  his  late  entry  into  the  oratory  of  the 
Castle  where  all  were  assembled,  accompanied  by  his 
uncle  whose  progress  was  but  slow  and  painful,  and 
de  Montford  who  had  always  stood  on  terms  of  close 
friendship  with  the  Earl,  and  who  now  wished  to  be 
present  at  the  nephew's  brilliant  marriage. 

At  one  end  of  the  apartment  was  a  group  of  four  per- 
sons writing  their  names,  and  advancing  witli  rapid 
strides  to  read  these,  Rutland  Borradale  saw  but  oue 
name,  and  that  one  was — Elra  Cresenworth. 

A  man  cannot  cry  out  when  he  is  hurt,  but  into  Rut- 
land Borradale's  eyes  sprang  the  ominous  gloom,  the 
wicked  fire,  that  darkles  in  pools  gurgling  around  the 
cruel  death  dealing  rocks  in  a  wintry  sea. 

Elra  Cresenworth  quite  calm  now  handed  her  husband 
an  unsealed  cnvcloi  e. 

"It  is  for  Mr.  Borradale,"  she  said  in  a  low  steady 
voice. 

Murray  rather  diffidently  handed  the  envelope  as 
bidden,  and  as  Borradale  opened  the  paper  it  contained, 
he  saw  at  once  that  it  was  a  cheque  for  a  very  large 
amount  of  money,  the  sight  of  which  contained  no  par- 
ticular meaning  to  his  mind,  until  his  eye  caught  his  own 
name  on  the  cheque.  He  then  realized  that  it  had  beeu 
drawn  by  Elra  Brookley,  and  that  by  it  the  considerable 
amount  of  two  millions  of  dollars  was  to  be  made  payable 
by  the  G National  Bank  of  New  York,  to  Rutland 


50  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

Borradale,  and  a  separate  note  showed  tlic  words: 
"  Seeing  it  was  for  this  he  sought  my  hand ." 

No  more  did  he  give  himself  time  to  read,  but  flinging 
back  the  papers  at  their  feet,  he  turned  to  the  bridegroom 
with  flashing  eyes.  u  You  dare !"  he  hissed,  between  his 
clinched  teeth,  whilst  his  hand  stole  to  his  pocket. 
Quick  as  thought  sounded  the  report  of  a  pistol,  and 
Murray  Creseuworth  Liy  next  moment  in  a  pool  of  his 
own  life  blood. 

In  the  confusion  that  followed  none  could  rightly  say 
they  had  seen  the  hand  that  had  pulled  the  trigger,  and 
sent  that  deadly  bullet  home.  But  the  very  thought  of 
the  crime  went  hand  in  hand  with  the  recollection  of 
events  which  so  immediately  preceded  it.  At  Rutland 
Borradale's  feet  had  been  flung  the  deadly  weapon  yet 
reeking  with  smoke  and  fire,  and  suspicion  could  not  fail 
to  point  its  grim  finger  at  the  man  who  had  been  crushed 
by  one  of  the  crudest  blows  that  could  have  been  dealt 
by  Fate,  or  rather  by  the  hand  of  his  now  hapless  victim. 

But  when  the  authorities  had  definitely  settled  in  their 
minds  that  suspicion  did  actually  point  in  a  certain  di- 
rection, and  had  sufficiently  gathered  their  straying 
mental  faculties  to  be  able  to  look  around,  there  was  no 
trace  to  be  found,  or  no  tidings  to  be  had,  either  of  the 
Earl  of  Darcliff'e,  his  nephew,  or  his  friend,  de  Mont  fort. 


THE  LAD  Y  OF  THE  MOA  TED  GRANGE.  57 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  MOATED  GRANGE. 

Peeping  from  amid  the  darkling  cluster  of  rich  green 
oak  and  beech  and  silver  poplar  that  shelter  them  i'roni 
the  southerly  gale  are  the  ivied  walls  of  the  ruined  castle 
of  Bramber,  an  ancient  pile,  majestic  still  in  its  decay  as 
it  overlooks  from  its  lofty  vantage  ground,  a  sweep 
of  country  wealthy  in  farmsteads,  with  their  broad  lands 
studded  over  with  the  browsing  cattle,  busy  villages 
where  the  children  play,  and  quaint  windmills,  with 
gaunt  flappers  ever  rushing  through  the  air  with  their 
dull,  booming  sound. 

Truly  may  we  utter  our  regret  with  Mr.  Ruskin  that 
there  should  have  been  no  pencil  to  hand  down  to  us  tbe 
decaying  beauties  of  this  structure,  or  no  pen  to  chronicle 
its  glories  while  yet  it  towered  in  grandeur  above  the  far- 
reaching  flats  that  stretch  away  at  its  base. 

Levelled  by  the  Parliamentarians  under  Sir  William 
Waller,  in  1G43,  after  a  short  but  spirited  siege,  there  is 
little  now  remaining  )fthis  once  strong  fortress,  which 
in  its  hey-day  dominated  a  country  of  some  hundreds  of 
leagues  around,  and  whose  sieurs,  besides  possessing 
large  estates  in  Munster  and  part  of  the  city  of  Limerick, 
in  Ireland,  claimed  vassalage  dues  at  one  time  from  the 
lords  of  Pevensey  and  Knepp  in  Sussex,  and  from  those 
of  Radnor,  Brecknock,  Hay  and  Abergavcnny,  in  Wales. 

Breastworks,  battlements,  turrets,  bastions  that  had 


58  HER  PLA  Y  THINGS,   MEN. 

shielded  generations,  and  tbe  lordly  keep  that  had 
been  witness  to  so  many  a  deadly  conflict  have  crumbled 
long  since  beneath  Time's  cankering  finger,  or  have 
toppled  over  the  steep  bank  on  which  the  castle  w;is 
built,  and  lie  strewn  in  shapeless  piles  of  corroding  rub- 
bish in  the  dry  moat. 

Before  the  destruction  of  the  castle  in  the  seventeenth 
century  there  was,  overlooking  the  drawbridge,  and 
guarding,  and  containing  the  portcullis,  or  hanging- 
door,  a  strong,  square  tower,  a  part  of  whose  flank  is  yet 
standing.  This  massive  bit  of  masonry,  though  now 
presenting  the  appearance  of  a  dismantled  skeleton  wall, 
thickly  enshrouded  with  ivy,  displays  even  to  this  day 
great  solidity  of  build  from  its  broad  base  upwards, 
measuring  from  some  five  to  six  feet  in  thickness. 

Of  the  many  picknickers — perhaps  from  Shoreham, 
perhaps  from  Brighton — visiting  the  castle,  those  who 
look  across  the  wold  to  the  South  Downs  skirting  the 
horizon,  may  perceive  a  striking  bit  of  scei>ery  expanding 
at  their  feet.  Yonder,  sleeping  amidst  the  trees,  is  the 
little  hamlet  of  Bramber,  a  helpless,  unprotected  cluster 
of  weather-beaten  hovels  and  quaint  cottages,  which  ever, 
in  the  olden  days  of  cruel  rapine,  fell  the  first  victim  to 
cruel  marauders  attacking  the  castle.  The  village  as  it 
is  now  seen,  boasts  of  but  a  single  street,  which  stretches 
to  the  foot  of  the  nearly  perpendicular  ascent  leading  to 
the  castle  ruins.  To  the  south  of  the  castle,  at  a  distance 
of  some  nine  to  ten  miles,  lie  the  towns  of  Brighton  and 
Worthing;  and  on  the  west  a  darkling  mass  of  waving 
pine  and  beech  crowns  the  rounded  crest  of  Chancton- 
bury  King,  making  at  sunset  a  jagged  wall  of  gloom 
against  the  crimson-tinted  sky;  whilst  to  the  north  and 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  MOATED  GRANGE.  59 

east  spreads  a  rural  and  sweet,  if  somewhat  tame,  land- 
scape. Away  on  all  sides  stretch  the  yellow  cornfields, 
with  the  waving  golden  grain  or  the  rich  green  pastures, 
wheie  through  the  long  summer  days  the  sleepy  cattle 
stand  knee-deep  in  the  rank  tangled  grasses,  or  wher- 
ever it  is  possible  far  down  amongst  the  reeds  and  sedge 
that  shiver  and  sough  in  the  bubbling  cool  water.  In 
just  such  a  way,  perhaps,  as  did  the  poor  peaceful  beasts 
stand  long  years  ago  when  the  fitful  tramp  of  horses' feet 
-was  dimly  heard  afar  off;  when  the  blast  of  the  bugle 
and  the  clang  of  armor  grew  momently  nearer,  till  the 
stream  of  mounted  warriors  swept  across  the  marshy 
plain,  and  the  tide  of  war  rolled  in  one  great  devastating 
wave  to  the  foot  of  the  castle. 

On  the  east  side  where  the  grass  is  vivid  green  and  the 
tall-stemmed  forget-me-nots  interweave  their  growth 
with  the  nodding  bulrushes,  where  the  marsh  marigolds 
and  yellow  kingcups  abound ;  there  spread  at  one  time  a 
deep  morass  which  has  since  been  reclaimed  to  advan- 
tage. This  morass  had  held  abundance  of  wild  fowl  for 
the  hawking  parties  which,  in  times  of  peace,  often  saun- 
tered from  the  castle,  mounted  on  gaily-caparisoned 
horses,  and  dashed  along  the  quaking  turf,  to  watch  the 
noble  falcon  wheeling  in  ever  narrowing  circles  ere  it 
dropped  upon  the  prey,  to  engage  in  that  gallant 
struggle  which  so  delighted  the  old  Norman  barons,  more 
especially,  when  it  ended,  as  it  more  often  did,  in  the 
death  of  the  inoffensive  heron. 

It  was  whilst  indulging  in  this  lordly  recreation  that 
John  de  Braose,  Baron  of  Brarnber,  met  with  his  un- 
timely death  in  1232.  Wheeling  on  the  sedgy  borders 
ot  the  widespread  marsh,  the  baron's  hot-blooded  Span- 


GO  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,    MEN. 

ish  horse  took  umbrage  at  a  flight  of  wild  fowl  rising 
\7ith  noisy  flapping  of  wings  and  wild  startled  cries 
close  to  the  place  where  he  galloped.  Tossing  high  his 
coal-black  crest,  the  excited  animal,  with  a  terrified 
snort,  recoiled  upon  his  haunches,  and  for  a  moment 
pawed  the  air  in.  majestic  grandeur,  ere  he  viciously 
flung  himsi-lf  back  and  in  hurtling  descent  crushed  his 
mailed  and  helnieted  rider  to  almost  instantaneous  death 
beneath  him.  It  was  then  that  the  Lady  of  Bramber, 
the  ill-starred  daughter  of  Llewellyn — a  bride  but  two 
short  years  ago— having  repaired  to  the  gloomy  eastern 
towers  to  watch  from  their  embrasured  casements  the 
gallant  spectacle  of  the  hawking  party  streaming  away 
to  the  westward  in  the  valley  beneath,  had  the  hapless 
fate  to  witness  that  black  horse's  fall,  and  to  watch  her 
dead  lord  borne  homeward  to  his  castle  and  to  her. 

Around  the  brow  of  the  knoll  whereon  stood  the  castle 
and  keep,  ran  a  wall  of  considerable  thickness,  which 
formed  part  of  the  outer  ramparts  of  the  fortress,  and 
which,  towards  the  eastern  side,  where,  protected  by  the- 
se verity  of  the  incline,  the  castle  was  more  strongly 
guarded,  is  to  this  day  in  a  state  of  remarkably  good 
preservation  ;  but  to  the  west,  from  whence  the  chief 
rush  of  besiegers  under  Waller  flooded  the  castle,  the 
wall  was  entirely  demolished  and  razed  to  the  ground. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  of  this  ancient  forti- 
fication, as  now  seen,  is  the  dry  moat,  which  runs  at  the 
base  of  the  castle  and  extends  over  a  circular  area  of 
some  1,000  feet.  Before  the  seventeenth  century,  when 
this  moat  was  supplied  with  water  from  the  river  Adtir, 
which  flows  through  the  valley  bordering  the  east  side 
of  the  castle,  the  water  filling  it  spanned  some  forty- 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  MOATED  GRANGE.  01 

seven  feet  in  breadth,  from  bank  to  bank,  being  some 
thirty  feet  in  depth  at  the  shallowest  point ;  and  thus  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  fortress  affording  the  strongest 
protection  against  marauding  attacks.  That  part  of  the 
moat  facing  the  south,  which  was  spanned  by  the  draw- 
bridge, is  now  filled  with  a  dry  rubble,  formed  in  most 
part  from  the  wreck  of  the  Norman  tower,  which  beiug 
added  to  and  solidified  by  the  covering  of  a  coarse 
earth,  has  since  allowed  of  a  more  easy  access  to  the 
castle  walls.  Its  deep  cut  sides,  as  also  the  steep  banks 
which  rise  from  the  margin  of  the  moat  to  the  foot  of  the 
old  ramparts,  are  thickly  fringed  with  hazel  saplings 
interwoven  everywhere  in  dense  growth  with  the  silver 
birch,  willow,  gray  poplar,  and  aspen,  the  shadow  from 
whose  boughs  sweeps  a  green  sward  farther  down  where 
ihe  pale  bramble-rose  and  purple  fox-glove,  the  thirsty 
iris,  and  yellow  marsh  lilies  rise  from  amongst  the  dank 
mosses  that  cluster  and  creep  around  the  spreading 
roots  of  the  young  oaklings.  As  may  thus  bo  seen,  the 
moat  affords  a  wealth  of  interest  to  the  curious  bands  of 
pleasure  seekers,  who  picnic  under  its  kindly  shade,  and 
who  love  well  to  pry  into  its  vernal  nooks  and  gather  the 
wood-anemones  there,  or  to  sit,  perhaps,  and  listen  to 
the  soughing  of  the  wind  amongst  the  quivering  willows 
and  aspens  overhead. 

Most  of  the  traditions  and  legends  of  the  castle  have 
been  swept  away  with  time,  and  though  it  does,  indeed, 
possess  a  skeleton  history — one  quaintly-worded  and  full 
oi  interest — it  is  such  mere  outline  as  to  leave  behind  an 
unprofitable  wish  for  deeper  draughts  of  knowledge. 

There  are  not  wanting,  however,  in  the  records,  half 
historic,  half  legendary,  of  this  castle,  tales  of  vindictive 
cruelty  and  heartless  bloodshed. 


62  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEW. 

In  the  reign  of  King  Henry  VII,  one  Hubert  de  Hurst, 
an  alien  baron,  having  been  accorded  the  charge  of  the 
castle  during  the  minority  of  a  certain  William  de  Braose, 
the  then  Lord  of  Bramber,  exercised  much  despotic  sway 
over  the  country  round,  and  was  much  dreaded  amongst 
his  own  household  for  his  jealous  tyranny.  Amongst 
other  of  his  cruelties  he  effected  the  rape  of  Maud  Will- 
mot,  commonly  known  as  the  Maid  of  Ditchling,  a  peasant 
girl  of  great  beauty,  and  of  hitherto  untarnished  inno- 
cence. Her  he  forced  later  to  marry  him,  treating  her 
for  some  time  with  all  the  lavish  tenderness  and  care 
that  love  could  inspire;  but  she,  young,  gay  and  frolic- 
loving,  could  find  nothing  beside  her  jealous  elderly 
lord,  that  consoled  her  for  the  loss  of  her  free,  happy, 
careless  life  amidst  the  sweet  green  fields  and  shady 
lanes,  far  down  in  the  valley  by  her  father's  hut. 

Before  her  forced  marriage  with  De  Hurst,  Maud  of 
Ditchling  had  deeply  loved  and  pledged  herself  to  one 
De  Lindfield,  the  young  scion  of  a  good  old  family, 
though  poor;  and  tli  is  young  squire,  under  guise  of  an 
old  standing  friendship  for  De  Hurst,  having  followed 
Maud  to  her  husband's  castle,  carried  on  with  her  there 
a  secret  and  guilty  intimacy.  For  a  while  unsuspicious, 
De  Hurst,  who  was  a  true  sportsman,  admired  in  his 
guest  all  that  was  most  frank  and  manly  in  manner  and 
bearing,  most  skillful  in  dangerous  exercise  of  arms,  and 
most  daring  in  feats  of  horsemanship,  for  in  hunting 
fields  and  over  hawking  grounds  none  excelled  De  Lind- 
field. It  was  thus  that,  with  stirring  tales  of  dangers, 
happily  surmounted  in  the  pursuit  of  these  manly  re- 
creations, the  young  Squire  was  enabled  to  wrhile  away 
the  dreary  hours  when  the  old  and  irritable  Baron  was 
attacked  by  his  baneful  enemy,  the  gout. 


THE  LAD  Y  OF  THE  MO  A  TED  GRANGE.  63 

But  an  imprudence  on  the  part  of  tlie  Lady  Maud,  led 
De  Hurst  to  fear  for  the  honor  of  bis  name,  and  ascer- 
taining that  his  suspicions  were  correct,  and  enraged 
with  jealousy,  he  determined  to  bide  his  time  for  a  bitter 
revenge.  Accordingly  late  one  night,  as  the  Lady  of 
Bramber  was  returning  from  an  assignation  with  her 
lover  in  a  summery  arbor  within  the  castle  grounds, 
De  Hurst,  who  had  been  a  witness  to  the  scene  between 
the  deeply  guilty  pair,  had  De  Liudfield  siezed  and  con- 
veyed to  an  underground  dungeon,  used  in  those  days 
for  the  storage  of  corn,  where  he  was  thrown  and  locked 
in,  never  to  come  out  again. 

The  griui  tale  has  it  that  De  Hurst  with  his  own 
hands,  night  after  night,  built  up  a  wall  with  plaster 
and  stone  in  front  of  the  cell  containing  his  victim,  and 
that  once,  towards  the  completion  of  his  task,  having 
looked  for  a  last  time  at  the  unhappy  young  man,  he 
found  that  the  hair  of  the  latter  had  turned  to  a  snow 
white.  The  wretched  Lady  Maud,  upon  learning  the 
hapless  fate  of  her  lover,  is  said  to  have  entirely  lost 
her  reason.  When  Sir  William  Waller  battered  in  the 
southwest  ramparts  of  the  castle,  and  his  victorious 
soldiers  pick -axed  their  way  into  the  staunch  walls  of 
the  keep,  there  was  then  found  in  an  old  dungeon  the 
skeleton  remains  of  the  man  who  had  expiated  his 
crime  in  a  living  tomb. 

What  more  is  known  of  the  castle's  history  affords 
but  little  interest,  being  principally  a  bare  account  of 
the  alliances  formed  in  marriage  by  the  Barons  of 
Bramber  in  their  days  of  power. 

Thus  Time's  wave  is  ever  rolling  on,  and  the  walls  of 
this  once  brave  fortress  will  disappear  j  history  will 


f»4  HER  PL  A  Y  THINGS,   MEN. 

close  for  ever  over  that  remote  spot,  leaving  nothing  but 
a  bald  earthwork  to  tell  of  the  labors  of  giants,  to  tell 
of  beroic  deeds,  of  cruel  deeds,  and  of  the  gallant  deeds 
of  many  of  England's  noble  sons  performed  beneath  the 
shadow  of  those  moated  towers.  The  children  will  run 
and  play  amongst  the  clambering  weeds  and  shivering 
willows  that  fringe  the  rock,  and  will  laugh  and  dream 
not  that  this  is  hallowed  ground,  that  every  sod  they 
press  is  pregnant  with  the  story  of  a  deeper  tragedy 
than  ever  they  will  witness,  the  chronicles  even  of  which 
are  now  lost  to  them  forever  in  the  impenetrable  gulf  of 
Time. 

But  history  repeats  itself,  and  Bramber  has  its  mys- 
teries yet;  mysteries  that  produce  endless  trouble  and 
conjecture  in  the  timid  minds  of  the  little  rustics  run- 
ning through  the  Grange  meadows  after  the  corn-crakes' 
nests;  and  such  as  even  make  the  stolid  countrymen 
passing  the  miniature  towers  of  the  Grange  entrance  ex- 
orcise their  slow  minds  with  ever  increasing  wonder  as 
to  who  may  be  the  queen  who  reigns  in  that  solitary 
mansion. 

For  where  the  grass  is  vivid  green,  and  where  the 
solitary  heron  stands  in  the  dusky  twilight  on  the  bordeis 
of  what  was  once  the  deep  morass,  where,  in  1232,  John, 
Baron  of  Brainber,  met  his  death,  but  which  is  now 
ground  reclaimed  to  some  advantage,  there  stands  a 
pretty  and  quaintly  gabled  mansion  called  The  Grange. 
At  about  the  time  the  story  opens  this  Grange  had  been 
leased  to  a  lady  giving  her  name  as  Mrs.  Eldmere,  who 
wore  the  deep  mourning  of  widowhood,  and  who  gave 
but  little  explanation  save  that  supplied  by  her  fune- 
real garments  for  thus  burying  herself  in  so  remote  a 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  MOATED  GRANGE.  65 

corner  of  creation  as  this  little  hamlet  under  the  ruined 
fortress. 

She  had,  however,  brought  with  her  several  servants, 
which  showed  that  she  was  wealthy,  which  circumstance, 
coupled  Avith  the  retired  life  she  led,  caused  much  won- 
der, but  it  was  very  few  from  the  village  who  ever  pene- 
trated to  the  inside  of  the  Grange,  and  those  who  did 
saw  little  or  nothing  of  its  mistress.  One  thing,  how- 
ever, had  become  well  known,  and  that  was  that  the  lady 
of  the  Grange  was  very  beautiful  and  wore  costly  dia- 
mond rings,  which  alone  in  the  eyes  of  the  maidens  and 
swains  of  Bramber  surrounded  her  with  as  much  mys- 
tery and  romance  as  any  imprisoned  queen. 

If  they  had  seen  more  of  her  they  might  have  pro- 
nounced her  habits  and  ways  very  quiet  and  uninteresting 
for  a  person  so  enveloped  in  mystery  as  she,  for  nothing 
apparently  broke  in  upon  the  monotony  and  routine  in 
that  household,  every  member  of  which  seemed  to  think 
highly  of  its  mistress,  and  in  consequence  was  more  in- 
clined to  keep  from  disturbances  which  might  annoy  her 
gentle  womanly  feeling. 

And  this  strangely  beautiful  lady,  who  seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  governing  her  household  with  care  and 
patience,  in  the  inner  recesses  of  her  private  apartments, 
what  was  she  like?  What  was  the  secret  skeleton  which 
confronted  her  there,  and  which  had  made  her  life  such 
an  apparent  blank  ? 

Ah !  that  secret  she  had  evidently  never  disclosed  to 
any  one,  even  the  most  favored,  and  none  save  her 
trusted  maid  knew  anything  of  her  past  life,  and  she 
never  broke  the  confidence  reposed  in  her  by  her  mis- 
tress. But  even  this  faithful,  handmaiden  did  not  know 


66  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

exactly  everything  concerning  Mrs.  Eldmere,  for  often- 
times she  seemed  entirely  puzzled  to  see  her  mistress 
vainly  searching  among  old  papers  which  she  kept 
on  ordinary  occasions  carefully  locked  away,  but  which 
nevertheless  often  stole  out  from  their  hiding-place 
when  Mrs.  Eldmere  was  alone,  or  fancied  she  was  alone. 
But  from  such  fruitless  searches  she  always  rose  with  a 
sigh  and  the  sad  murmured  words : 

"  Not  yet !    Not  yet !" 

But  perhaps  it  may  be  interesting  to  our  readers  them- 
selves to  take  a  peep  at  the  Grange  and  its  beautiful 
mystery-enveloped  lady  ere  we  proceed  further  with  our 
story. 

The  Grange  Bramber  is  the  name  of  one  of  those 
charming  country  houses  which  are  to  be  found  in  so 
many  parts  of  southern  England.  It  stands  in  park-like 
grounds,  guarded  at  the  entrance  by  two  massive  tower- 
gates,  and  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  alow  stone  wall, 
which  is  again  surmounted  by  a  thick  bushy  hedge,  effect- 
ually prevents  any  possible  chance  of  being  overlooked 
by  passers  by,  and  makes  the  grounds  particularly  shel- 
tered and  secluded. 

The  house  is  a  long  low  building,  whose  large  bay- 
windows  open  on  the  smooth  velvety  lawns,  overhung 
by  well-grown  trees  and  shrubs,  and  with  its  miniature 
lake  and  terrace  opening  onto  a  rose  garden,  it  makes 
a  pretty  picture  of  quiet  English  country  life.  The 
family  to  whom  the  Grange  belonged  were  now  abroad, 
and  it  was  at  present  occupied  by  a  Mrs.  Eldmere,  who 
lived  a  most  quiet  and  retired  life,  was  rarely  seen  out- 
side the  tower-gates,  and  who  seemed  to  have  for  her 
sole  companion  a  tall  white-browed  girl,  whom  she  desig- 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  MO  A  TED  GRANGE.  07 

nates  as  Topsie,  and  who  must  have  been  a  school-mate, 
judging  from  the  frequent  allusions  they  both  make  con- 
cerning mistresses  and  professors,  and  the  general  hap- 
penings of  school  life  which  they  had  witnessed  together. 

The  arrival  of  Mrs.  Eldmere  and  her  young  companion 
at  the  Grange  had  given  rise  at  first  to  much  conjecture 
in  the  minds  of  those  few  who  make  up  the  so-called  so- 
ciety- of  a  small  country  place;  but  as  time  went  on,  and 
the  new-comers  persistently  ignored  all  advances,  they 
saw  that  the  ladies,  for 'some  reason  or  other,  preferred 
to  remain  unvisited,  and  if  ever  Mrs.  Eldmere's  name  was 
mentioned,  it  was  generally  accompanied  with  a  shake 
of  the  head  and  a  look  that  might  mean  many  tilings. 
She  was  considered  to  be  peculiar!  and  as  the  average 
country  resident  has  a  horror  of  appearing  anything  but 
commonplace,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  Mrs.  Eldmere  had 
not  found  favor  in  their  sight. 

The  lady's  young  companion  was  variously  spoken  of 
as  her  sister  (although  there  was  not  the  slightest  re- 
semblance between  them),  her  companion,  and  l\erfemme 
dechamlre;  and  to  account  for  her  long-continued  resi- 
dence with  Mrs.  Eldmere,  and  the  relations  that  existed 
between  them,  we  must  go  back  to  some  time  previous 
to  their  arrival  at  the  Grange. 

One  morning  Mrs.  Eldmere  had  received  a  letter  the 
contents  of  which  we  shall  take  the  liberty  of  reading, 
and  which  ran  thus  : 

DEAREST  OLD  ELL.  :  My  husband  has  been  ordered 
to  India  with  the  gallant  10th  (the  Prince's  Own)  and  I 
am  going  with  him.  I  cannot  bear  to  have  him  go  out 
alone  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time,  and  yet  I  dread 
leaving  poor  Topsie  to  mother  and  sisters,  who  are  dread- 


68  HER  PLAYTHINGS,  MEN. 

fully  harsh  to  her.  Do  you  know  of  any  pleasant  coun- 
try house  where  she  will  be  cared  for,  treated  gently,  and 
perhaps  loved,  while  I  am  away,  which  will  not,  I  hope, 
be  for  long.  You  will  have  my  eternal  gratitude  if  by 
any  sweetness  or  kindness  you  can  soften  her  hard  road 
in  life.  On  my  return  I  hope  never  to  have  to  part  with 
my  sister  again,  as  Bedstone  is  going  to  send  in  his  resig- 
nation, and  we  shall  be  able  to  settle  down  for  good.  If 
I  do  not  see  you  before  we  start,  1  am  always  your  old 
university  chum, 

BOPSIE,  nee  ARTEALE  ALLESMERE. 

This  letter  had  been  sent  originally  to  the  Chateau  of 
Montelarde,  and  from  thence  forwarded  by  her  business 
man  in  London  to  her  present  address.  It  was,  there- 
fore, owing  to  this  delay  of  the  letter  that,  having  hurried 
to  London,  Mrs.  Eldinero  had  arrived  only  in  time  to  kiss 
her  friend  good-bye  and  to  see  her  sail  for  India,  but 
in  that  very  short  time  she  had  contrived  to  make  her 
friend  Bopsie  entirely  happy  by  whispering  in  her  ear 
the  words : 

"  Darling,  Topsie  will  be  a  boon  to  my  lonely  exist- 
ence ;  she  shall  be  cherished  as  my  very  own  sister.  But 
what  has  made  her  young  life  unhappy  f 

u  That  is  a  miserable  matter,"  answered  her  friend 
with  a  sigh,  "but  one  which  you  have  every  right  to 
know,  so  you  will  find  the  key  to  it  in  the  papers  which 
are  waiting  for  you  at  my  lawyer's;  and  now  God  bless 
you!  dear  old  Ell.,  and  may  you  be  as  happy  as  you  have 
made  me;  and  with  another  kiss  and  many  hand-clasps 
the  two  friends  parted,  and  Mrs.  Eldmere  had  returned 
to  her  quiet'  country  home  accompanied  by  a  tall  fair 
girl  of  whom  she  appeared  to  be  very  fond,  and  who  has 
been  her  constant  companion  ever  since. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  MOATED  GRANGE.  69 

Although  Mrs.  Eldmere  had  often  pondered  over  her 
last  meeting  with  Topsie's  sister  and  the  words  she  had 
then  spoken,  she  had  never  applied  to  the  lawyer  for  let- 
ters which  she  knew  contained  the  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem. She  knew  that  Topsie  had  had  some  great  disagree- 
ment with  her  own  family,  which  rendered  it  impos- 
sible for  her  to  live  happily  at  home,  but  she  had  lived 
too  long  abroad  to  know  much,  about  her  friends,  ex- 
cept through  occasional  letters  from  Artrale,  and  these, 
though  never  mentioning  the  details,  had  at  one  time 
been  full  of  a  mysterious  something  that  seemed  to  hint 
at  shame  or  sorrow  for  some  one  she  loved,  but  who  Mrs. 
Eldmere  never  thought  of  associating  with  her  sister. 

She  noticed  that  the  girl  never  received  any  letters 
from  her  home  people,  nor  did  she  ever  mention  them, 
and  more  than  once  she  felt  inclined  to  ask  the  reason, 
but  a  strange  feeling  of  reluctance  came  over  her  and  she 
left  the  words  unspoken.  They  were  so  happy  together, 
though  their  life  was  quiet  and  simple,  and  Mrs.  Eld- 
mere often  feared  that  Topsie  might  grow  weary  of  its 
monotony,  but  she  was  always  bright,  gay,  and  full  of 
laughter,  so  that  her  friend  found  it  hard  to  imagine  that 
any  deep  sorrow  had  ever  shaded  her  fair  young  brow. 

It  was  Topsie,  therefore,  who  (to  Mrs.  Eldmere's  sur- 
prise) spoke  first  on  the  matter  she  had  been  so  deeply 
pondering,  and  almost  as  if  she  could  read  her  thoughts 
she  said,  abruptly,  one  morning: 

"I  know  you  think  it  odd,  Elra,  that  I  get  no  letters 
from  home  ;  I  have  watched  your  face  j  I  know  it  is  so- 
Did  you  never  hear  the  why  and  wherefore  of  my  ban- 
ishment1? I  know  Artralo  wrote  it  all  to  you.  She 
thought,  and  I,  too,  that  you  ought  to  know." 


70  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

"  I  have  never  asked  to  see  those  letters,  Topsie,"  said 
Mrs.  Eldmere,  -with  all  her  love  and  sympathy  shining 
in  her  eyes.  "  I  thought,  perhaps,  some  day  you  would 
tell  me,  dear,  and  if  not  I  am  content  not  to  know." 

"But  you  must  know!"  cries  Topsie  rather  wildly. 
Ob,  Elra!  let  me  read  it  out  to  you;"  and  the  girl  threw 
herself  at  Mrs.  Eldmere's  feet,  and,  leaning  her  pretty 
head  against  her  friend's  knee,  she  drew  from  a  folded 
packet  some  closely  written  sheets  of  foolscap,  the  writ- 
ing on  which  she  began  to  read  as  follows : 


LITTLE   TARTAR.  71 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"LITTLE      TARTAR." 

Once  again  I  am  in  the  old  woods  at  Eavenstowe  with 
Lenore  by  my  side :  unhappy,  beautiful  Lenore,  with  the 
genius-kindled  eyes  and  broad  snowy  brow  that  intellect 
has  so  plainly  stamped  as  all  its  own. 

In  family  we  are  fourteen  —  seven  young  lords  and 
seven  young  ladies  —  I  the  youngest,  and  Lenore  the 
thirteenth  ;  Lenore,  with  hair  which  has  caught  the 
ruddy  tinges  of  the  setting  sun,  with  eyes  that  mirror 
the  shadowy  tints  of  the  purpling  clouds  at  sunset,  with 
a  soul  tender,  deep,  unfathomable. 

She  had  an  alarming  amount  of  brain  5  she  was  glo- 
riously clever !  This,  I  fear,  is  a  rather  girlish  expres- 
sion, but  my  sister,  the  "little  Tartar,"  as  Lenore  was 
styled  by  the  elders  of  the  family,  was  very  bright,  and 
had  always  shown  great  promise  for  a  brilliant  after- 
life. 

She  was,  for  all  this  great  promise,  a  strange  little 
girl,  merciless  where  she  took  a  dislike,  and  notwith- 
standing'the  possession  of  a  dear,  beautiful  petite  face, 
she  was  not  so  much  loved  or  admired  by  those  who  ap- 
proached her  as  might  have  been  expected.  There  was 
something  in  her  manner  that  repelled — a  something 
haughty  and  unconquerable — but  she  was  also,  by  rea- 
son of  her  brightness  and  courage,  the  link  between 


72  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEK. 

the  timid  younger  ones  of  our  family  and  the  domineer- 
ing elders  who,  by  reason  of  their  having  been  born 
ahead  of  us,  had  every  right  on  their  side,  but  whose 
one-sided  logic  had  been  rather  crumbled  in  a  heap  once 
or  twice  by  our  "little  Tartar."  This  was  considered 
remarkable  for  one  of  us  girls,  as  our  boys  have  always 
been  esteemed  very  talented,  and  especially  powerful  iu 
threading  through  an  argument,  the  right  and  justice  of 
which  very  often  depended  upon  the  fists  that  upheld  it. 
One  of  our  boys,  "  Lord  Cupid,"  took  a  "  double  first," 
and  has  grown  very  fat  upon  fame  ever  since,  but  then 
he  has  since  become  the  sou  and  heir.  A  second  of  our 
young  men,  Lord  Dumrell,  shot  a  man,  and  was  not  only 
too  talented  to  get  hanged  for  it,  but  was  acquitted  with 
great  honor  and  distinction  ;  while  a  third,  Lord  Eancrid, 
did  better  still,  as  papa  has  always  affirmed,  for  he  shot 
himself!  One  of  our  younger  lords,  on  the  other  hand, 
being  dull  witted,  and  unable  to  think  of  anything  origi- 
nal, married  an  American  heiress  and  became  wealtby; 
while  among  the  girls  a  few  of  them  married,  and  most 
of  them  remained  old  maids,  poor  things  !  living  most  of 
their  time  at  the  dower  house  of  Eavenstowe  near  Drisle- 
hurst,  Sussex. 

Very  little  was  there  in  common  between  our  grand, 
haughty  lady  mother  and  her  numerous  little  lords  and 
ladies.  Never  did  we  run  to  her  with  our  tales  of  woes 
and  wants;  and,  after  all,  she  may  not  have  been  to 
blame.  I,  Lady  Artrale,  the  youngest  of  her  offspring, 
having  so  often  heard  myself  irreverently  termed  the 
ninety-ninth,  that  I  have  begun  to  forget  how  many  we 
are  in  family. 

But  to  return  to  our  pleasure  party  in  the  woods, 


LITTLE  TARTAR.  73 

where  Leonore  and  I  are  happily  indifferent  to  all  un- 
palatable family  problems,  we  are  bnsily  engaged  in 
building  up  a  naughty  little  gypsy  fire,  which  we  feed 
from  time  to  time  with  twigs  from  the  neighboring  trees. 
I  say  naughty,  because  it  has  always  been  deemed  irre- 
deemably wicked  by  my  lady  mother  (and  all  her  other 
offspiiug  of  lords  and  ladies  to  the  number  of  fourteen) 
for  Lenore  and  I  to  so  far  forget  our  rank  as  to  take  de- 
light in  the  vulgar  pastime  of  roasting  mushrooms  in  the 
woods,  and  this  is  what  we  are  now  clandestinely  doing. 

Lenore  and  I  love  each  other  tenderly,  and  take  all 
our  pleasures  in  common;  but  I  have  also  other  feelings 
with  regard  to  my  beautiful  sister.  I  venerate  her  be- 
cause she  is  capable  of  being  so  much  more  haughty  and 
self-controlled  than  myself,  and  she  has  always  been  so 
immensely  more  talented  than  any  of  our  smart  family, 
including  even  the  fat  sou  and  heir. 

UI  wish  I  were  a  snail,"  cries  my  sprightly  sister,  still 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  intruders. 

"  Oh  !"  comes  iu  an  astonished  gasp  from  me ;  but  I 
suppose  talent  is  always  strongly  eccentric. 

"  I  should  then  have  a  house  of  my  own,  transportable 
at  will." 

"  But,  dear,"  I  mildly  suggest,  "  would  you  not  be 
cramped  for  room  ?" 

"Yes;  that  is  why  papa's  miserably  fat  son  and  heir 
could  never  get  iu  to  slay  my  pet  rats,  as  he  did  yester- 
day. 

"  Happy  America  !  where  children  and  rats  are  pro- 
tected by  their  owu  special  laws,"  she  continued,  ram- 
bling on  from  one  thought  to  another. 

"  Indeed  I  hope  my  home  will  be  larger  than  a  snail's," 


74  HER  PLAYTHINGS,  MEN. 

I  say,  reverting  to  her  former  idea,  "  otherwise  I  should 
have  no  room  for  lovely  si4ver  and  things."  To  which 
vague  remark  Lenore  replies  : 

"  There  you  are,  foolish  little  Artrale,  wishing  for  what 
you  will  tire  of  in  less  than  three  days.  Poor  little  wom- 
an !"  At  this  I  look  rather  humbly  at  Miss  Philosopher, 
but  my  after-thought  is  to  rebel. 

"  Lenore,"  I  say,  very  reproachfully 5"  you  are  so  per- 
petually discontented  that  I  am  sure  you  never  know 
what  you  want." 

"  You  are  right.  I  shall  never  be  satisfied — for  it  is  a 
yearning  for  greatness  and  power  over  my  fellow-beings 
that  eats  into  my  soul." 

Another  flash  of  genius,  I  suppose,  but  it  quite  crum- 
bles my  dignity  into  a  little  heap.  "  You  do  say  such 
funny  things,  Lenore,"  I  venture. 

"Not  at  all;"  you  do  not  know  how  I  despise  silver — 
how  I  despise  wealth !" 

•li  Oh ! "    She  seems  to  startle  so  many  "ohs  "  from  me. 

"  One  never  can  dare  to  enjoy  anything  really  wlien 
one  is  rich,"  Lenore  explains.     "  I  should  never  think  of 
mkiug  mushrooms  here  in  the  woods  if  it  were  not  for 
my  poverty,  and  you  know  how  much  I  enjoy  them,  sis- 
ter mine." 

So  saying,  Leonore  flings  herself  prone  on  her  fur- 
trimmed  coat,  and  in  her  usual  graceful  attitude  of  lazy 
content  gazes  dreamily  up  at  the  rooks  overhead.  The 
sweet  perfume  of  violets  and  coltsfoot  fills  the  air,  and 
all  around  is  to  be  seen  the  tender  green  of  the  young 
larch  buds. 

"Nature  is  what  I  love," she  continued,  sententiously; 
Nature,  whose  voice  comes  to  me  in  the  hush  of  the  pine 


I   SAW  A  STRANGER,   A    HANDSOME     YOUNG    MAN,    WITH    HAT    IN    HAND 
ADVANCING  TOWARDS  US. 

Page  75. 


LITTLE  TARTAR.  75 

woods  or  tbe  swirling  rush  of  the  river  j  Nature,  which 
is  Truth  gloriously  portrayed." 

"And  in  the  meantime,  dear,"  I  answer  dryly,  your 
mushrooms  are  burning.  Can  you  not  leave  the  ideal 
and  descend  to  the  real  ?  Here  is  your  favorite  dish 
cooked  to  a  turn." 

A  rustling  in  the  bushes  and  a  slight  cry  of  surprise 
from  Lenore  caused  me  to  look  up  quickly,  and  I  saw  a 
stranger,  a  handsome  young  man,  with  hat  in  hand  and 
an  expression  of  much  amusement,  advancing  towards  us. 

Instinctively  I  feel  that  my  cheeks  are  crimson  from 
my  recent  exertions  over  the  fire,  that  my  hands  are 
soiled,  likewise  that  the  stranger  has  most  fascinating 
eyes,  and  is  evidently  a  gentleman.  Lenore  is,  however, 
equal  to  the  occasion,  for  she  rises  quickly  to  her  feet  and 
asks  the  intruder,  with  a  would-be  haughty  look,  if  he  is 
aware  that  he  is  trespassing. 

"I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons  if  that  be  the  case,"  he 
replied,  "but  the  truth  is  I  am  a  stranger  here,  having 
lost  my  way  in  the  woods,  and  seeing  the  smoke  of  a 
gypsy  fire,  as  I  imagined,  I  came  this  way,  hoping  to  fall 
in  with  some  one  who  could  put  me  on  the  right  path  to 
Sir  Gregory  Athelhurst's,  where  I  am  now  staying  to  en- 
joy a  couple  of  his  rare  gallops  after  hounds.  I  did  not 
expect  to  surprise  two  wood  nymphs  at  their  repast  and 
must  beg  to  be  forgiven,  for  I  see  that  owing  to  my  un- 
fortunate appearance  the  mushrooms  are  now  cooked  to 
-a  turn,  or  rather  to  a  cinder  !" 

As  he  said  this  he  looked  at  us  with  such  a  comical 
expression  on  his  face  that  it  was  irresistible,  and  even 
Lenore  joined  in  the  laughter  that  followed.  In  a  few 
minutes  we  were  chatting  as  easily  as  if  we  had  known 


76  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

each  other  for  years,  and  our  new  friend  proved  so  en- 
tertaining a  companion  that  time  passed  all  too  quickly, 
until  Lenore,  who  had  twice  warned  me  of  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  at  last  insisted  upon  our  going  home.  Mr. 
de  Montford  (this  was  the  stranger's  name)  begged  to 
walk  with  us  as  far  as  the  edge  of  the  wood,  as  he  said, 
"  I  am  afraid,  if  you  leave  me  alone  again,  I  shall  be  lost, 
and  the  next  time  I  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  ogre 
of  the  forest  instead  of  into  those  of  the  l  beautiful  nymphs 
of  the  woods  ;'  though  I  am  already  so  much  your  cap- 
tive,'"' ho  managed  to  whisper  to  me,  "  that  you  can  do 
with  me  as  you  will." 

"Then  I  command  you  to  leave  us,"  I  replied,  with  a 
smile  and  a  blush,  "  for  here  is  your  road  and  ours  lies 
there." 

Lenore  had  been  walking  in  front  of  us  through  the 
wood,  as  the  paths  were  narrow,  and  Mr.  de  Montford 
had  contrived  to  detain  me  at  his  side,  by  some  pretext 
or  other,  till  we  reached  the  high-road  which  led  to  the 
village. 

There  was  something  singularly  fascinating  to  me  in 
this  man ;  he  was  too  gentlemanly  to  trouble  me  with 
empty  compliments,  but  his  eyes  had  a  marvellous  power 
of  expressing  unspoken  words  of  admiration  ;  and  though 
I  fully  realized  that  it  was  wrong  to  feel  thus  for  an  ut- 
ter stranger,  I  hoped  that  somehow  we  should  meet  again 
erelong. 

11  You  must  leave  us  now,"  said  Lenore,  earnestly. 
"  My  mother  would  never  forgive  us  if  she  knew  we  had 
been  talking  to  you  so  long.  Please  go." 

"  I  will  vanish  at  once,"  said  De  Montford  with  a  low 
bow,  but  you  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  leave  me  without 
telling  me  your  names— the  names  of  my  rescuers  f 


LITTLE    TARTAR.  77 

"  I  am  called  Lenore,  and  my  sister  is  Artrale,"  said 
Lenore,  demurely.  Now  go,  sir,  and  do  not  let  us  fiud 
you  trespassing  again  on  our  dominions.  Here  she  bowed 
and  turned  away,  and  he  seized  the  opportunity  to  take 
my  hand  and  press  it  to  his  lips  with  a  whispered  <k  au 
revoir,"  while  with  a  significant  look,  that  seemed  to  plead 
for  another  meeting,  he  left  us. 

11  Well,  Artrale !  I  must  say  you  more  than  flirted  with 
the  young  man,  said  Lenore,  us  we  walked  slowly  home. 
How  would  your  fiance  like  to  hear  of  this  ? " 

tl  Do  you  really  think  I  flirted  too  much  ?  I  said,  teas- 
iugly.  Why,  Lenore,  I  believe  you  are  jealous  of  the 
handsome  stranger's  evident  preference  for  me !  Ami 
to  receive  no  attention  but  from  my  future  lord  and  mas- 
ter? This  young  man  was  so  romantic,  and  he  was  so 
good  to  look  at,  I  could  not  help  flirting  just  a  little.  I 
must  have  some  fun,  and  there  is  no  harm  done  any- 
how." 

No  harm  done  yet !  but  other  and  stolen  interviews 
followed  the  first  meeting  of  Lady  Artrale  and  De  Mont- 
ford,  and  what  was  begun  in  a  spirit  of  coquetry,  induced 
by  the  quiet  country  life  led  by  two  high-born  girls  who 
lived  in  almost  entire  seclusion,  was  destined  to  end  as 
sadly  as  it  had  begun  happily.  In  a  word  it  came  to  this : 

Lady  Artrale,  before  meeting  De  Montford,  had  for 
some  time  been  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  man  she 
really  admired,  and  whom  she  esteemed  highly,  though 
a  little  fear  was  mingled  with  both  these  feelings. 

Eedstone,  Earl  de  Brun,  had  become  deeply  enamoured 
of  the  lovely  Artrale,  whom  he  had  met  by  chance  iu 
travelling ;  and  though,  owing  to  her  youth  and  inex- 
perience, her  motber  would  have  wished  for  no  engage- 
ment, she  at  last  consented  to  his  entreaties,  and  Artrale 


78  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

was  to  be  married  and  presented  in  the  following  year. 
She  had  seen  but  little  of  her  future  husband,  but  she 
knew  him  to  be  the  soul  of  honor,  and  very  exacting 
where  his  love  was  in  question.  She  would  have  grieved 
sorely  to  lose  him  now  through  her  own  folly,  and  she 
trembled  at  the  crisis  that  was  approaching.  No  ray  of 
hope  seemed  to  brighten  the  clouds  that  were  gathering 
round  her  hitherto  bright  young  life.  On  the  one  hand, 
she  saw  the  iron  determination  of  a  man  ruled  by  a 
desperate  passion  j  on  the  other,  a  pure,  upright  love, 
believing  nil  things  noble  of  its  object,  and  expecting 
love  and  honor  from  the  same.  She  almost  hated  the 
day  on  which  she  first  saw  De  Montford  standing  in  the 
light  of  the  fitful  flame  in  the  woods,  and  she  hated 
herself,  most  of  all,  for  fanning  into  flame  a  still  more 
dangerous  fire  than  that  which  flickered  at  their  feet. 
But,  now  that  she  had  coquetted  with  the  wind,  she  must 
reap  the  whirlwind. 

"I  will  meet  De  Moutford  once  more,"  she  thinks  5 
"but  it  must  be  for  the  last  time."  And  Lady  Artrale 
arrayed  herself  in  her  most  becoming  gown — a  pink  cam- 
bric that  had  been  much  admired  by  her  hero — and, 
taking  her  large  straw,  poppy-decked  hat,  she  slowly 
walked  through  the  grounds  to  their  trysting  place  in 
the  woods.  De  Montford  was  already  there,  and  as  she 
approached  he  came  to  meet  her  with  out-stretched 
hands  and  a  happy  light  in  his  eyes  that  showed  too 
plainly  how  dear  she  was  to  him. 

"  At  last !"  he  cried.  "  I  feared  you  were  not  coming ; 
and  now,  what  have  you  to  say  to  me  V 

"I  have  to  tell  you,"  said  Lady  Artrale,  simply,  rais- 
ing her  blue  eyes  to  his  face,  "  that  we  must  not  meet 
again.  I  have  only  come  to  say  good-bye." 


LOST  ON   THE  BRO  W  OF  DA  WN.  79 


CHAPTEB  X. 

LOST    ON    THE   BROW   OF  DAWN. 

Here,  as  Artrale's  recital  becomes  vague  and  rather 
drivelling,  Mrs.  Eldraere  thinks,  we  shall  finish  it  our- 
selves. 

Do  Montford,  a  young  man  of  good  old  Norman  fam- 
ily, endowed  though  he  bo  with  a  handsome  face  and 
great  capabilities  for  attracting  the  fair  sex,  with  a  large 
amount  of  brains  and  a  rather  diminutive  rent-roll,  has 
fallen  decidedly  in  love  with  Lady  Artrale,  seventh 
daughter  of  Edred,  Marquis  of  Ripdale,  and  his  wife 
Leonora,  and  over  and  above  is  determined  to  marry  her. 
He  therefore  gets  a  little  disagreeable  shock  on  hearing 
the  word  "good-bye  "  uttered  by  her  in  so  calm  a  way ; 
but  he  is  not  easily  baffled.  "  I  have  likewise  come  to 
say  that  horrid  little  word,  Artrale,"  he  says  coolly.  "  I 
can  no  longer  postpone  my  promised  visit  to  that 
wretched  estate  of  mine  in  Yorkshire.  Don't  you  pity 
me,  Artrale  ?"  he  continues,  searching  deeply  in  her 
limpid  eyes  for  the  emotions  which  he  knows  his  words 
cause. 

Yes,  he  sees  it  all,  rather  plainly,  too,  for  he  is  versed 
in  the  lore  of  woman's  looks,  and  he  knows  that  his  ap- 
parent indifference  has  staggered  the  vain  young  lady 
before  him.  He  therefore  meets  her  angry  glances  with 
a  smile  on  his  parted  lips  as  she  says : 

'•'Lady  Artrale,  if  you  please,"  and  draws  herself  up 
to  her  full  height. 


SO  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

"As  you  will,  Lady  Artrale,"  says  Be  Montford  with 
indifference,  though,  she  fancied  that  for  a  moment  a 
gleam  of  passion  shone  in  his  dark  eyes.  "I  will  not 
detain  you  now,  as  you  have  said  enough  to  prevent 
me  caring  to;  but  permit  me  to  escort  you  to  the  high- 
road. There  I  shall  leave  you,  and  you  will  not  again 
be  troubled  by  my  importunity." 

So  saying,  he  struck  into  a  field  which  they  had  sel- 
dom or  never  traversed  before,  and  side  by  side  and  in 
severe  silence  they  threaded  their  way  through  the 
broad,  rich  pastures,  each  busy  with  his  or  her  own 
thoughts.  Lady  Artrale  suddenly  becomes  conscious, 
however,  that  they  are  treading  new  ground,  and  with  a 
quick  catch  in  her  breath  she  looks  at  two  peaceful- 
seeming  cows,  who,  with  that  far-away  look  in  their 
slumberous  eyes  so  much  admired  in  the  heroines  of 
novels,  are  so  happily  engaged  in  ruminating  that  they 
would  not  sacrifice  their  comfort  for  the  uncomfortable 
effort  of  tossing  pretty  Artrale  on  their  horns.  No,  she 
thinks  they  won't  harm  her,  but  for  all  that,  after  a 
quick  look  at  her  stolid  companion,  she  makes  a  little 
dash  for  a  gate  opening  on  to  the  highway.  But,  alas! 
before  they  can  gain  the  gate  Lady  Artrale  flings  her 
arms  into  space  with  an  hysterical  cry,  then  turns 
precipitately  and  flies,  followed  quietly  and  at  a  respect- 
ful distance  by  a  noble-looking  charger  with  coal-black 
mane  and  crest.  On  hearing  her  frightened  cry,  De 
Montford's  lip  curls,  and  he  mutters,  "Ha!  my  proud 
but  timid  beauty,  I  have  conquered.  It  is  as  I  had  cal- 
culated." And  in  a  moment  ho  has  gained  her  side, 
where  she  stands  undecided  as  to  what  point  of  a  wide 
brook  she  should  choose  to  jump  into,  rather  than  be 
trampled  to  death  by  a.  vicious  horse. 


LOST  ON    THE  BROW  OF  DAWN.  81 

"You  can  never  cross  there,"  says  De  Montford, 
feeling  himself  rather  master  of  the  situation.  "  If  the 
horse  bo  wicked,  he  will  surely  follow  you  even  into  the 
water."  This  is  said  rather  unfeelingly,  and  Lady  Ar- 
trale  turns  pale  and  sinks  in  an  attitude  of  despair  at  his 
feet. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  f     Cannot  you  save  me  ?" 

"I  do  not  think  you  need  alarm  yourself ;  the  horse 
looks  quiet  enough.  Besides,  even  should  you  wish  it, 
there  is  no  possibility  of  egress  at  this  side  of  the  field ; 
that  line  of  blackthorn  stakes  bars  all  hope  for  us." 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  die  here!7'  (this  defiantly j) 
'•  and  I  suppose  you  won't  care  a  pin?" 

"  How  can  a  man  care  or  care  not  a  pin  ?"  thinks 
De  Montford,  smiling  stoically  at  her  agony  of  despair; 
but  he  says  rather  softby,  -as  his  eyes  look  down  into 
hers: 

"Did  you  care  very  much  just  now  what  pain  you 
gave  me  ?  and  you  gave  it  unsparingly." 

At  hearing  his  murmured  words  Lady  Artrale  is 
inclined  to  be  indignant,  but,  remembering  the  wicked 
horse  and  her  helpless  condition,  she  becomes  piteous. 

li  I  cannot  love  you  !  I  wish  you  would  take  that  for 
an  answer,"  she  rather  whines. 

"  That  is  not  true,  and  I  shall  make  you  love  me," .re- 
torts De  Montford  masterfully,  as  she  crouches  lower  on 
the  sward. 

u  You  have  heard  the  only  answer  I  can  give  you,' 
murmured  the  lady.  "  I  wish  you  would  accept  it." 

u  I  cannot  and  will  not  accept  any  answer  that  you  have 
yet  given  me.  Artrale,  I  love  you  !"  This  was  breathed 
rather  than  spolren  in  tones  soft  but  full  of  feeling. 


82  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEN. 

"  Don't  care !"  says  she  flippantly,  whereat  he  bites  his 
lips  and  gro^s  pale,  but  very  determined. 

"  Artrale !"  he  repeats,  "  my  love  is  dangerous  and 
deep  ;  think  twice  before  you  spurn  it." 

"  Sir!"  begins  Lady  Artrale  grandly ;  then  her  dignity 
collapses,  for,  sailing  with  majestic  strides  towards  them 
comes  the  coal-black  horse  she  dreads  so  much,  and  as 
ho  breaks  into  a  loud,  au.,ry  whinny,  she  gives  a  little 
shriek  :  "  He  is  so  wicked !  lie  has  already  trampled 
two  of  his  keepers.  "  I  suppose  my  mangled  bones  will 
strew  the  plains  to-morrow  !  " 

This  she  says  with  a  persuasive  sidelong  look  at  the 
man  above  her,  but  he  is  as  unfeeling  as  an  oyster,  for 
there  he  stands  with  immovable  countenance  until  she 
longs  to  give  him  a  little  shake ! 

"  Mr.  de  Montford." 

"WeUf 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  said  P 

"  Yes,  that  your  bones  would — " 

"Yes;  will  you  not  save  me?"  This  is  said  pathet- 
ically. 

"  I'd  not  mind  being  reduced  to  powder  myself,"  cries 
the  young  man  nonchalantly. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !"  Three  little  shrieks  escape  Artrale's 
pretty  lips  as  the  horse,  who  is  now  close  to  them,  paws 
frantically  at  the  sod,  ploughing  up  the  dainty  mosses 
in  a  ruthless  manner. 

"Artrale,  the  horse  is  only  playful ;  he  will  not  harm 
you  when  I  am  near,"  says  De  Montford  protectingly. 

"  He  will,  he  will !"  cries  she,  desperately.  "  Can  wo 
not  jump  the  brook  ?" 

"  Do  not  attempt  it ;  you  will  never  get  over  it.     Uuf , 


LOST  ON-    THE  BROW  OF  DAWN.  S3 

Artrale,  suffer  me !"  Here  he  clasps  her  slight  form  in 
his  arms,  and  with  her  hair  sweeping  her  neck,  and  her 
face  very  close  to  his,  he  breathes : 

"  Artrale,  in  another  moment  you  can  be  safe.  I  can 
put  brook  and  fences  far  behind  me  with  Artrale  in  my 
arms ;  but,  darling,  I  will  not  cross  them  without  the 
answer  my  heart  is  longing  for.  Be  my  love,  Artrale— 
be  my  wife,  my  adored  wife !" 

Now  passion  is  breathing  from  his  lips  and  eyes;  his 
whole  frame  is  trembling  with  the  very  strength  of  his 
resolve  that  she  shall  be  his,  and  Lady  Artrale  knows 
that  the  crisis  of  her  shallow  little  life  is  at  hand — that 
whatever  word  she  shall  speak  in  this  moment  of  her 
supposed  danger'  De  Montford  will  hold  her  to  forever 
after,  if  he  really  be  the  strong,  determined  man  he 
looks. 

• "  I  choose  rather  to  be  trampled  to  death  !"  cries  she, 
with  a  wicked  flash  from  her  handsome  eyes,  which  seems 
to  make  her  captor  doubly  determined  to  be  the  winner 
in  this  little  game. 

"  That  is  not  the  answer  I  am  waiting  for,  Artrale." 
Here  ho  holds  her  face  close  to  his,  with  her  form  still 
resting  in  his  strong  arms,  and  looks  into  her  eyes  till  he 
feels  a  quiver  run  through  her  frame,  and  he  knows  he 
lias  conquered  her. 

"  I  wait  to  prove  my  love  for  you,  Artrale.  Say  you 
will  be  my  loved  and  loving  wife." 

"  Yes,"  came  in  a  sigh  from  the  pretty  trembling  lips, 
which  were  immediately  pressed  passionately  by  him. 

"The  horse!"  she  whispered  in  terror;  "  save  me!" 

De  Montford,  with  one  magnificent  bound,  such  as  the 
most  powerful  of  athletes  might  justly  think  of  with 


84  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

pride  during  a  lifetime,  cleared  the  wide  brook,  and  its 
fringing  line  of  blackthorn  stakes,  with  his  promised 
bride  held  lightly  in  his  arms. 

What  passed  between  Lady  Artrale  and  De  Montford 
after  this  we  need  not  mention.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
the  lady  reached  her  home  in  safety,  and,  gaining  the 
shelter  of  her  own  room,  locked  the  door  against  all 
intruders,  and  then  gave  way  to  a  burst  of  passionate 
tears.  The  Fates  have  indeed  been  unkind  to  her.  Had 
she  not  meant  to  dismiss  De  Montford  this  very  day  ? 
And  instead  of  this  she  finds  herself  pledged  to  him  by 
a  promise  which  she  knows  he  will  surely  make  her  keep, 
though  it  was  wrung  from  her  at  a  moment  when  terror 
had  blinded  her  to  every  thought  save  that  of  her  sup- 
posed danger. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  she  moans,  wringing  her  pretty 
hands  and  restlessly  pacing  the  floor  of  her  room. 

"Are  you  here,  Artrale?"  cries  Leuore's  voice  at  her 
door,  and  hastily  removing,  as  she  hopes,  all  traces  of 
grief  from  her  face,  she  admits  her  sister,  wrho  is  evi- 
dently impatient  at  being  kept  waiting. 

Lenore's  quick  eyes  at  a  glance  see  that  something  is 
wrong.  Artrale's  flushed  face  and  nervous  manner  show 
her  only  too  plainly  that  her  little  sister  is  hiding  some- 
thing from  her,  and  by  dint  of  pleading  and  persuading 
she  at  last  draws  from  Artrale  the  whole  story  of  herself 
and  De  Moutford,  their  stolen  interviews,  and  now  this 
promise  given;  and  the  poor  child,  with  many  sobs  and 
tears,  entreats  her  sister's  help  and  advice. 

Artrale,  in  her  misery,  notices  that  Lenore's  eyes  are 
inspired  with  something  that  she  cannot  describe  but 


LOST  ON   THE  BROW  OF  DAWN.  85 

as  a  strange  sublimity,  but  they  are  very  sad  as  she  re- 
marks gently, 

"  I  shall  save  you,  Artrale.   Have  no  fear,  dear  sister." 

"  Dearest,  do  nothing  rash,"  cries  Artrale,  rather  in 
fear  of  what  she  reads  in  her  sister's  eyes — "nothing 
that  can  possibly  hurt  or  blight  your  happy  career 
through  life  or  in  society.  Promise  me." 

But  she  answers  abruptly.  Leuore  is  always  abrupt. 
Artrale  thinks. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  what  you  term  society.  Itjs  mad- 
ness that  a  girl  should  yearn  to  go  into  society,  to  be 
stretched  on  the  rack  and  tortured  like  any  dozen  of 
little  fried  oysters." 

And  so  the  subject  was  suffered  to  lapse  for  the  time 
between  the  two  young  ladies. 

When  we  nest  see  Lady  Artrale  and  her  sister  we  find 
them  busied  with  preparations  for  the  former's  wedding, 
and  the  old  house,  which  had  been  so  dull  and  quiet 
since  the  sudden  death  of  their  brother  (by  having  shot 
himself),  is  now  all  alive  and  bustling  with  the  excite- 
ment that  such  an  important  event  is  sure  to  cause. 

Artrale  seems  joyous  and  full  of  life,  her  eyes  are  ra- 
diantly blue  and  happy,  and  the  late  nervousness  that 
had  been  observed  in  her  manner  had  almost  disap- 
peared. She  had  had  a  respite  from  De  Montford's  at- 
tentions, as  he  had  been  called  away  peremptorily  on 
business,  and  though  he  had  written  often,  he  had  not 
since  appeared  on  the  scene.  0 

It  was  Leuore  who  brought  Artrale  nearly  all  her  let- 
ters every  morniug,  this  latter  young  lady  liking  to  lin- 
ger among  her  pillows  a  little  longer  than  her  sprightly 
sister,  and  it  was  therefore  with  little  surprise  that  Ar- 


86  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

trale  saw  Lenore  appear  in  her  bedroom  on  the  morning 
preceding  that  of  her  wedding  with  a  bundle  of  rnono- 
granied  notes  in  her  hand.  She  little  dreamed  of  the 
serpent  in  the  basket  of  fruit.  She  found  it,  however^ 
all  too  soon,  and  with  blanched  cheek  and  lips  handed 
it  to  Lenore,  who,  singing  softly  and  happily  as  a  young 
thrush  in  the  luscious  spring-time,  is  all  unconscious  of  the 
horror  written  in  her  sister's  eyes.  But  Lenore  changes 
color,  too,  when  she  reads ;  though,  seeing  her  sister's 
haggard  face,  she  says  confidently  : 

"  It  will  be  all  right  dear,  don't  trouble  about  it,  I  will 
see  him  instead  of  you  to-night,  since  he  must  see  some 
one.  To-morrow  you  will  be  past  his  power;  darling, 
how  happy  you  will  be  then  !" 

Artrale's  blue  eyes  are  full  of  tears  as  she  tries  to  smile 
assent,  and  Lenore  leaves  her  no  time  to  pursue  the  sub- 
ject,  which  is  not  again  mentioned  between  the  sisters. 

That  evening,  in  the  hubbub  and  bustle  of  preparation 
for  the  morrow,  no  one  noticed  the  slender  white  robed 
figure  which  stole  out  through  the  shrubberies ;  no  one 
took  any  notice  of  a  light-wheeled  carriage  which  stood 
waiting  by  the  shrubbery  gate,  and  yet  those  were  the 
signs  and  tokens  of  the  opening  act  of  a  tragedy  as  sad 
and  bitter  as  ever  the  pale  crescent  witnessed. 

No  one  missed  Lady  Lenore  until  the  following 
morning,  and  then  it  was  only  because  she  was  absent 
from  her  place  as  bridesmaid.  This  incident  caused 
wonder  in  many  minds,  but  in  that  of  the  bride  herself 
it  caused  a  panic  which  showed  itself  in  her  white  face 
and  trembling  lips  throughout  the  ceremony.  Two  and 
two  were  put  together,  and  when  Lenore  did  at  last  ap- 
pear, she  found,  alas !  a  cruel  reception. 


LOST  ON  THE  BROW  OF  DA  WN.  87 

Lenore's  father,  at  her  mother  the  grand  cold  mar- 
chioness' bidding,  refused  his  permission  to  his  favorite 
daughter  to  cross  the  threshold  and  mingle  with  the 
other  members  of  his  family — refused  to  his  hitherto 
idolized  child  the  protection  of  a  parent's  roof — and  Lady 
Lenore  found  herself  publicly  lost  —  an  outcast  and 
homeless. 

So  ended  the  sad  tale  written  by  Artrale,  now  Countess 
de  Brun,  to  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  to  throw  some  light  for 
her  benefit  upon  the  past  career  of  the  beautiful  Lenore, 
alias  Topsie. 


88  HER   PLAYTHINGS,   MEN, 


CHAPTER  XI. 
SIR  GREGORY'S  LOVE  FEVER. 

AmoDg  those  of  her  neighbors  who  were  curiously  in- 
terested in  the  mistress  of  the  Grange  and  her  quiet 
way  of  living  may  be  mentioned  Sir  Gregory  Athelhurst, 
a  wealthy  baronet,  who,  having  had  occasion  to  stop  for 
a  short  time  at  his  Manor-house,  had  heard  something 
which  rather  tickled  his  imagination,  and,  moreover,  had 
seen  something  that  had  still  more  powerfully  interested 
him  in  that  part  of  Sussex. 

Adjacent  to  the  Grange,  and  dominating  a  princely 
park  through  which  the  mottled  deer  roamed  at  will 
among  the  tall  ferns,  is  this  Manor-house,  the  much- 
despised  country  seat  of  the  jovial  Sir  Gregory,  who, 
truth  to  tell,  preferred  his  shooting  cottage  on  his  Scot- 
tish moor,  or  his  racing  box  near  New  Market,  to  this 
lonely  old  pile  of  buildings,  where  his  man-of-all-trades, 
Michael  Dolan  by  name,  seemed  to  be  his  sole  companion. 
For,  excepting  a  few  waii's  who  visited  the  well-estab- 
lished county  families  scattered  here  and  there,  there 
were  very  few  strangers  who  ever  allowed  themselves  to 
be  found  in  that  rather  forgotten  part  of  the  country, 
and  it  was  because  of  this,  and  the  doleful  stagnation 
around  it,  that  the  Manor  house  had  always  held  so  few 
attractions  for  Sir  Gregory.  The  latter,  when  he  wished 
to  entertain  his  friends,  did  so  always  at  some  other  of 
his  country  places.  He  was  an  ardent  sportsman,  had 


SfX  GREGOR  Y  S  LO  VE  FE  VER.  89 

killed  tigers  in  India  and  moose  in  Canada,  was  the 
straightest  rider  in  the  county,  and^in  addition  to  this  he 
was  a  bachelor  of  forty-two,  rich,  and  not  ill-looking ;  and 
though  the  gossips  said  he  was  too  much  addicted  to  the 
foaming  bowl,  they  at  the  same  time  excused  this  weak- 
ness as  a  necessary  adjunct  to  his  character  of  country 
squire.  At  tbis  particular  time  Sir  Gregory  had  already 
been  at  the  Manor-house  much  longer  than  was  his  cus- 
tom. He  had  spent  his  days  riding  across  the  downs 
and  in  long  rambles  with  his  dogs,  while  his  evenings 
had  been  generally  passed  in  the  company  of  a  large 
bowl  of  punch.  But  even  these  attractions  had  begun 
to  pall,  and  he  had  already  decided  to.  make  preparations 
for  his  departure  to  the  north,  when  something  occurred 
to  change  his  plans. 

One  day  while  he  was  returning  from  a  long  cross- 
country ride,  and  was  walking  his  hunter  slowly  down  a 
wooded  lane,  he  soliloquized  thus  with  himself:  "This 
is  getting  to  be  blamed  slow.  I  can't  stand  it  much 
longer.  Glad  I  gave  Dolan  such  strict  orders  to  have 
my  traps  ready  for  to-morrow.  The  Manor  is  nothing 
but  a  sleepy  old  bat-hole.  I  shan't  be  sorry  to  go  north." 

Just  at  this  moment  his  hunter  shied  violently,  and 
with  a  half-suppressed  oath  the  baronet  looked  for  the 
cause.  What  he  did  see  was  a  fluttering  silken  skirt  and 
the  glimpse  of  a  face  so  lovely  that  at  the  sight  of  it  the 
bachelor  baronet's  heart  went  humpety-bumpety,  and  his 
jolly  face  turned  scarlet  as  his  coat,  while  he  heard  a 
sweet  voice  saying, 

"  May  I  trouble  you  to  hand  me  that  basket  f  and, 
looking  down,  he  perceived  a  little  fancy  basket  half  full 
of  flowers  lying  on  the  roadside  near  his  horse's  feet. 


90  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEN. 

u  Certainly,  madam,"  he  said,  banding  it  to  her  with 
great  alacrity.  The  fair  unknown  bowed  her  thanks, 
and  disappeared  befiind  a  big  oak  trunk,  leaving  Sir 
Gregory  with  interest  and  curiosity  both  aroused  as  he 
peered  anxiously  between  the  trees  to  get  another 
glimpse  of  his  fair  inamorata. 

"  Who  on  earth  can  she  be  ?"  he  thought;  "  that  is  no 
mere  country  girl,  I  am  sure  ;  I  wish  I  could  have  another 
good  look  at  her.  Turning  his  horse's  head  homeward, 
he  saw  Dolan  coming  down  the  lane,  and  at  once  put 
him  through  a  series  of  questions  regarding  the  fair  un- 
known, but  the  Irishman  was  as  much  at  sea  as  the  bar- 
onet himself.  Dolan  was  Sir  Gregory's  right  hand  man. 
A  good-natured,  easy  going,  ready-witted  fellow,  with  a 
fund  of  Irish  humor;  fond  of  a  joke  and  perfectly  de- 
voted to  his  master.  The  two  men  were  about  the  same 
height  and  build ;  but  Sir  Gregory  had  dark  eyes  and 
hair,  while  Dolau?s  head  was  crowned  with  a  shock  of 
coarse  straight  red,  that  no  amount  of  brushing  would 
reduce  to  order. 

That  evening,  after  dinner,  Sir  Gregory  called  Dolan 
and  ordered  his  hunting  clothes  unpacked,  and  his  pink 
coat  brought  out,  saying  that  he  wished  to  make  an 
early  start  for  the  meet  next  day. 

u  Why,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  factotum  in  astonishment. 
"  Sure  I  thought  your  honor  would  be  departin'  be  the 
railway  f 

"  Never  mind,  Dolan,  I  have  decided  to  stay  a  few  days 
longer,  I  have  nothing  to  hurry  for,  and  I  want  to  try  the 
roan  mare  before  I  go;  besides  (to  himself),  I  must  find 
out  who  my  fair  unknown  of  this  afternoon  may  be.  If 
she  be  staying  in  the  neighborhood  she  will  surely  be  at 


SIR  GREGORY'S  LOVE  FEVER.  91 

the  meet  to-morrow,  either  as  an  onlooker  or  a  participant ; 
ten  to  one  she  is  a  regular  Diana  as  well  as  a  Venus ! 
From  this  moment  on  Sir  Gregory  is  possessed  with  one 
hope  and  one  object  in  life,  and  hard  enough  he  finds  the 
task  he  has  set  himself.  He  discovers  his  fair  one's 
name  to  be  Mrs.  Eldmere,  and  that  the  lady  is  living  at 
the  Grange,  but  as  she  does  not  visit  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  is  rarely  seen  outside  her  own  gates,  he  tor- 
ments himself  in  vain  to  find  some  means  of  approaching 
her.  Thinking  she  may  possibly  play  tennis,  he  goes 
so  far  as  to  handle  a  racquet,  doing  so  about  as  grace- 
fully and  effectually  as  an  elephant  swinging  a  bar  of  iron, 
but  without  any  favorable  result  as  to  his  playing  tennis 
well,  or  seeing  the  lady,  and  he  begins  almost  to  despair 
of  ever  making  her  acquaintance.  Dolan  is  the  con- 
fidant of  all  his  schemes,  and  he  has  orders  to  watch  the 
Grange  from  time  to  time,  hoping  in  this  way  to  discover 
some  means  by  which  he  can  introduce  himself  to  her 
notice,  but  at  last  the  baronet  growing  impatient,  re- 
solves on  a  desperate  step.  "  Just  take  these  letters 
round  to  the  l  Grange '  and  the  i  Nest,' "  he  tells  Dolan ; 
and  the  person  addressed  feeling  called  upon  to  answer, 
but  being  totally  incapable  of  answering  like  anybody 
else,  replies  in  the  following  manner : 

"Faixan'I  willthot!"  as  he  smiles  his  approval  of 
his  master's  boldness,  and  goes  off  stolidly  with  the  pre- 
cious missives. 

Dolan  is  a  character  in  his  own  way,  and  whfin  Mrs. 
Dolan  allows  him,  he  rules  his  master  with  a  good- 
natured  tyranny — that  is,  he  makes  allowances  for  hu- 
man nature's  frailties  in  him,  and  even  helps  them  on 
occasions.  But  he  has  discovered  that  a  great  secret  of 


02  HER  PLAYTHINGS.   MEN. 

any  man's  power  over  his  fellow-man  is  contained  in 
these  words  of  advice  given  him  by  a  friend:  "  Control 
your  own  wife  first."  And  Dolan  sets  about  doing  it. 
Now  this  at  first  seems  not  so  easy,  as  Mrs.  Dolan  has  a 
tongue  tliat  does  perpetually  seem  to  wag  at  both  ends, 
while  for  mere  self-defence  Dolan  is  reduced  to  the  sad 
plight  of  placing  corks  in  his  ear!?,  so  as  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed in  his  duties  or  liis  night's  rest  by  the  eloquence 
of  his  spouse.  However,  by  degrees  his  corks  are  made 
by  an  unaccountable  agency  to  disappear,  and  Dolan  is 
sorely  troubled,  for  he  finds  himself  completely  at  the 
lady's  mercy,  till  he  hits  upon  a  happy  expedient  that 
at  last  enables  him  to  gain  and  hold  undisputed  sway. 
He  has  hitherto  made  it  a  rule  to  fly  at  the  first  sign  of 
argument,  and  as  Mrs.  Dolan  generally  pursues,  he  now 
leads  his  spouse  around  the  garden  at  a  brisk  walk.  At 
first  she  has  it,  as  usual,  all  her  own  way.  However, 
the  pace  soon  tells,  she  pants  for  breath,  and  finds 
herself  wishing  that,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  she  had 
never  been  blessed  with  such  portentous  charms.  Her 
breath  goes.  She  can  but  gasp  something  to  the  ef- 
fect that  Dolan  is  an  "iggeraut  clod  j"  but  that  person 
refusing  obstinately  to  hear  her,  she  sinks  on  a  bench 
that  fairly  croaks  beneath  her  portly  form,  and  relapses 
into  an  ominous  silence.  This  manoeuvre,  repeated  two  or 
three  times  a  day,  when  his  madam  is  in  her  most  argu- 
mentative moods,  has  an  annihilating  effect  upon  the 
discussion  of  politics  and  abstract  subjects,  and  the  said 
tonic  duly  administered  reduces  the  poor  woman  to  such 
a  state  of  submission  that  she  often  hears  herself  with 
wonder  pronouncing  the  words,  "Then  do  as  you  like," 
or,  "Just  as  you  say,  but  don't  worrit  about  it."  Thus 


SIR  GREGORY'S  LOVE  FEVER.  93 

Dolan  had  found  himself  master  of  the  field  with  regard 
to  his  wife.  But  there  was  some  oue  else  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  some  kind  of  a  voice  in  his  family,  and 
that  was  his  daughter  Maggie,  who,  as  Dolan  pere  ex- 
pressed it,  "  was  a  caution,  and  too  kuowin'  for  her  age." 
Now  just  how  Maggie  had  secured  a  voice,  morally  as 
well  as  physically,  happened  in  the  following  way : 

On  one  occasion  of  hurry  and  bustle,  when  the  master 
had  brought  home  some  friends  unexpectedly  to  sleep  at 
the  Manor-house,  mere  Dolan  was  struggling  with  a 
basket  of  spotless  linen  in  the  rear  hall,  which  at  the 
time  was  buried  in  utter  darkness.  Setting  the  basket 
down,  she  advised  the  youthful  Maggie  to  run  and  fetch 
the  lantern  from  the  house-keeper's  room  and  to  look 
sharp  about  it.  This  produced  the  effect  of  Maggie's 
scurrying  on  her  errand,  and  returning  to  the  fourth 
landing  of  the  stair- way,  on  which  is  situated  the  room 
designated.  She  then  proceeded  to  c/aue  her  neck  over 
the  balusters,  in  the  endeavor  to  throw  light  upon  the 
scene  of  her  parent's  struggle  with  the  darkness  and  the 
linens,  and  seeing  her  below  she  (the  daughter)  muses 
thus : 

"Mar  is  teariu'!  she'll  whip  me  when  I  get  to  the 
bottom  if  slie  don't  have  the  light  quick !  I  know  what 
I'll  do !"  This  with  a  sudden  burst  of  inspiration,  and 
suiting  the  act  to  the  thought,  she  flings  one  of  her  pedal 
extremities  (translated  legs)  over  the  balusters  and  holds 
aloft  the  lantern,  so  as  to  illumine  her  parent's  pathway. 
She  loses  no  time  either  in  turning  the  head-over-heels 
act,  and  for  a  moment  she  and  the  lantern  offer  the  sight 
of  a  confused  jumble  in  their  endeavor  to  reach  the 
ground  first,  On  the  whole,  the  lantern,  I  think,  fares 


94  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

i 

worst,  as  it  coines  down  with  a  crash  and  a  bump  at  a 
safe  distance  from  Maggie,  whose  wide  flung  limbs  are 
deposited  in  the  linen  basket !  Now  on  first  becoming 
aware  that  her  daughter  is  flying  through  mid  air,  Mrs. 
Dolan,  with  a  gurgle  of  horror,  sinks  upon  a  chair,  and 
hopes  she  is  going  to  faint.  But  she  does  not;  and  when 
next  she  has  the  courage  to  remove  her  hands  from  her 
eyes,  she  sees  through  the  semi-darkness  a  face  peeping 
from  over  the  rim  of  the  wicker  basket.  This  she  slowly 
discovers  to  be  Maggie,  who  has  had  the  effrontery  not 
to  have  met  with  any  personal  injuries,  at  the  expense, 
too,  of  her  (Mrs.  Dolau's)  newly  washed  table  and  bed 
linen. 

"Not  even  her  nose  broken  !  and  my  table-cloths  all 
spoilt,  the  hussy  !"  she  cries  as  she  makes  a  wicked  dive 
for  the  linen.  But  Maggie  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  as  she 
peeps  from  the  basket,  tells  herself.  "  Mar  is  tearin' !" 
so  she  makes  a  lively  spring  from  under  mar's  porten- 
tous arm,  and  seeing  no  means  of  escape  from  the  hall, 
she  darts  like  a  rat  into  an  aperture  under  a  walnut  cab- 
inet, heavily  laden  with  the  master's  handsomest  pieces 
of  antique  china ;  nor  does  she  suffer  even  the  tip  of  her 
heel  to  remain  open  to  the  attack  of  the  enemy. 

"  Come  out  of  there,  ye  little  viper  !"  says  the  afflicted 
mother,  but  Maggie  laughs  to  herself  and  remains  firm. 
"  Such  a  thrashin'  as  ye'll  get !" 

Here  a  light  appears  on  the  scene,  carried  by  the 
master  himself,  who  had  heard  some  of  the  uproar,  and 
wanted  to  hear  the  rest.  But  the  good  woman  had 
worked  herself  into  so  white  a  heat  that  she  was  ob- 
livious of  everything  save  a  desire  to  get  at  the  culprit. 

"  Thrashiu's  too  good  fur  ye  !   Ye'll  have  the  dose !" 


SIR  CREGOR Y'S  LOVE  FE VER.  95 

This  for  Maggie  meant  castor  oil,  two  table-spooufuls 
of  which  were  choked  down  her  throat  each  time  she 
was  particularly  naughty,  each  time  without  fail  to  come 
up  again,  and  each  time  to  have  a  still  bigger  dose  choked 
down  again.  Therefore  was  Maggie  never  more  desper- 
ate than  when  the  "  dose "  was  mentioned  in  her  hear- 
ing. The  effect  upon  her  in  this  instance  was  seen  by 
the  calm  but  determined  upheaval  of  the  china  decking 
the  walnut  cabinet,  of  the  rocking  to  and  fro  of  the  same, 
of  the  tottering — 

"  Hold  !  hold  !  come  out,  you  little  ferret !"  shouts  the 
master  in  an  agony  of  uproarious  mirth,  for  nothing  ap- 
peals to  him  like  what  he  chooses  to  look  upon  as  a  huge 
joke,  even  though  his  china  is  in  danger. 

"  Come  out,  little  Meg !  and  I'll  make  it  all  right  for 
you.  You  shall  not  be  worried  or  punished,  I'll  answer 
for  that," 

But  Maggie  is  incredulous,  and  the  earthquake  and 
upheaval  business  continues  until  Mrs.  Dolau  succumbs 
in  fear  and  trembling,  falls  into  an  arm -chair,  and 
Maggie  knows  that  she  has  won  the  day. 

She  creeps  out  from  her  rat-hole  with  feelings  of  tri- 
umph and  safety,  and  from  that  day  she  has  gained  her 
master's  protection  and  is  never  "  dosed." 

But  from  her  rat-hole  on  that  day  Maggie  has  carried 
•with  her  something  more  than  mere  feelings  of  triumph 
and  security.  She  has  also  carried  with  her  a  little  faded 
piece  of  paper,  blood-stained  and  torn  at  one  end,  and 
which  piece  of  worthless  paper  no  one  but  cunning  little 
Maggie  herself  is  permitted  to  see. 


HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN  BACHELOR   QUARTERS. 

Sir  Gregory  Athelhurst  is  a  bachelor,  and  when  we  say 
that,  we  mean  to  imply  that  though  he  has  now  reached 
the  mature  age  of  forty-two,  he  has  not  yet  found  it 
necessary  to  cliange  his  state  of  single  blessedness,  being 
perfectly  content  to  live  in  his  beautiful,  rambling  old 
manor  house  (going  sadly  to  waste  for  want  of  a  mis- 
tress), entertaining  his  friends  and  enjoying  himself  in 
his  own  peculiar  way.  Yes,  Sir  Gregory  is  a  bachelor. 
Sir  Gregory  has  a  beautiful  house  all  for  his  own.  So 
thinks  Maudie  de  la  Eoche. 

What  does  a  bachelor  who  smokes  want  with  a  draw- 
ing-room all  gold  and  pale  blue  paneling  ?  What  does  a 
bachelor  who  lives  on  horseback,  or  in  his  cattle-houses, 
know  of  the  luxuries  that  can  all  be  piled  by  one  pair  of 
fair,  plump  little  hands  (such  as  Maudie's,  for  instance) 
into  the  exquisite  boudoir  she  reserves  for  her  own  pri- 
vate little  love  scenes  and  sorrows  and  novel  reading  ? 
So  thinks  Maudie  de  la  Roche,  who  is  very  envious  of  a 
title  in  general,  but  of  that  of  Lady  Athelhurst  in  par- 
ticular. 

So  also  does  not  think  Sir  Gregory,  as,  leaning  back- 
ward in  his  comfortable  arm-chair,  with  his  large  foot- 
ball-shaped head  submerged  behind  the  Times,  he  is 
enjoying  a  temporary  lull  between  the  business  of  his 
breakfast  and  his  morning  gallop. 


IN  BA CHEL OR  QUAR TERS.  0 7 

Sir  Gregory  is  a  stubborn  bachelor.  He  persists  in 
preferring  his  low  pipe  to  the  exquisite  art  and  blandish- 
ments that  the  feminine  inind  can  offer,  and  this  morning 
in  particular  he  hugs  his  lonely  state ;  but  then  he  is 
essentially  unamiable.  This  state  of  solitary  rejoicing 
is  produced  by  a  letter  which  he  has  received  this  morn- 
ing from  Maudie  de  la  Eoche  : 

"  DEAR  SIR  GREGORY  :  We  are  giving  an  entertain- 
ment," etc.,  it  runs.  "  You  must,  must,  must  come  F 

"  I  must,  must,  must  come  !  Must,  must,  must  I  ?  We 
shall  see  about  that,  little  Miss  Fattie  1  (That  is  what  I 
fear  most  of  her  men  friends  called  Miss  Maudie.)  And 
forthwith  the  wicked — the  wicked  baronet  shoots  the 
would-be  love  letter  into  the  cuspidor,  then  calmly  returns 
to  the  contemplation  of  the  Times,  giving  the  while  an 
occasional  pat  to  his  favorite  cats.  Of  these,  being  a 
bachelor,  he  has  two — Larkie  and  Scotchie,  and  they  en- 
joy their  mutton  chop  every  morning  with  their  master, 
whom  they  rule.  When  the  latter  retires  behind  his 
newspaper,  it  is  the  cats'  especial  time  for  enjoyment, 
and  this  moruiug  they  are  having  their  usual  boisterous 
sparring  match  at  their  master's  feet,  who  himself  actu- 
ally begins  shortly  to  purr  with  content.  And  shall  fat 
Maudie,  the  wicked  temptress,  come  in  to  disturb  his 
happiness  ?  Never !  

If  Maudie  does  not  come  to  disturb  his  dreams,  some- 
thing else  does  in  the  shape  of  a  greyhound  puppy,  who 
means  no  harm,  but  whose  appearance  causes,  quite  un- 
necessarily, a  great  pit-pat-patting  to  begin  suddenly  in 
the  gentle  feline  breasts,  whose  owners,  with  angry  grin- 
ning jaws,  jump  among  the  china  and  cut-glass  arrange- 


98  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEN. 

ments  so  copiously  covering  the  breakfast-table,  while 
the  bachelor  looks  calmly  on  from  behind  his  news- 
paper, and  gently  remonstrates  with  the  units  of  his 
menagerie. 

What  Sir  Gregory  next  sees  is  his  handsome  puppy, 
of  whom  he  is  especially  fond,  trying  to  follow  the 
cats. 

"  Down,  Trevor,  down  !"  cries  Sir  Gregory,  the  twinkle 
in  whose  eye  tells  the  puppy  plainly  that  his  master  is 
enjoying  the  fun. 

Trevor  has  a  gallant  heart  that  is  not  to  be  conquered 
by  mere  cats,  and  since  his  master  ordains  that  he  shall 
not  skip  over  the  table  after  them,  he  is  determined  that 
those  cats  shall  come  down  to  him  from  their  strong- 
hold. 

This  end  he  calmly  effects,  with  a  twinkle  of  mischief 
in  his  roguish  eye,  by  giving  one  short  sharp  jerk  to  the 
corner  of  the  damask  table-cloth,  which  gives  to  his  pull, 
and  next  moment  comes  to  the  floor,  with  its  litter  of 
cats,  china,  cut-glass,  and  silver,  at  the  same  time  bury- 
ing Trevor,  like  Samson,  in  the  ruins. 

Next  there  is  a  dreadful  howl  and  screech  and  hiss, 
followed  by  the  rolling  about  and  cracking  of  china  and 
glass  on  a  large  scale ;  and  in  the  midst  of  this  charivari 
the  bachelor  baronet  stretches  his  arm  calmly  and  pulls 
the  bell  almost  from  its  socket. 

"  Dolan,"  he  says,  rather  red  in  the  face  from  anger, 
to  the  woman  who  runs  hurriedly  to  answer  his  call, 

"  what  the  d is  the  use  of  a  house-keeper  who  does 

nothing  but  eat  her  head  off  in  wages  and  fine  feeding  ? 
I  give  you  a  month's  warning  for  letting  that  puppy  in 
here.  That  will  teach  you,  I  hope,  that  my  dining-room 


IN  BACHELOR  QUARTERS.  93 

is  not  a  kennel.  Pick  np  those  things,  and  you  pay  for 
everything  that  is  broken  !" 

With  a  sullen  growl,  and  an  angry  dive  for  the  cats 
and  the  puppy,  Mrs.  Dolan  stoops  over  the  debris  of  the 
breakfast- table. 

"  And  it's  all  his  fault,  it  is.  Ke  should  have  stopped 
the  fight,  and  not  call  for  a  poor  helpless  woman  to  do 
everythink  for  him ;  but  men  is  such  arrogant  good-for- 
nothing  creatures." 

The  month's  warning  did  not  trouble  her  in  the  least. 
She  had  been  six  years  with  Sir  Gregory  now,  and  every 
fortnight  of  it  had  she  received,  without  fail,  the  same 
month's  warning.  In  fact,  it  was  a  problem  now  whether 
she  or  Sir  Gregory  ruled  at  the  Manor-house. 

That  afternoon,  as  Sir  Gregory  was  returning  from  his 
daily  gallop,  with  his  thoughts  in  a  flutter  at  the  remem- 
brance of  a  certain  vision  which  he  has  seen  but  a  short 
hour  ago,  and  which  rather  shakes  his  allegiance  to 
bachelor  life,  he  is  surprised  to  find,  as  he  turns  a  bend 
in  the  road,  that  two  horsemen  in  pink  are  riding  down 
the  high-way,  only  a  little  way  ahead  of  him.  Seeing 
that  one  of  their  horses  had  gone  lame,  and  being  a 
keen  sportsman,  he  rides  quickly  forward  to  see  if  he 
can  offer  aid,  as  the  Manor-house  is  quite  near  and 
the  village  at  least  four  miles  distant. 

Upon  hearing  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  behind  them 
the  two  strangers  turn  to  meet  the  new-comer,  and  there 
is  a  general  murmur  of  astonishment  from  all  three 
as  Sir  Gregory  rides  up.  "  Well,  Borradale  !  Hello,  De 
Montford,"  he  cries,  with  a  genuine  ring  of  pleasure  in 
his  voice,  "how  in  the  name  of  goodness  did  you  come 
here,  and  why,  being  here,  did  you  not  let  me  know 


100  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,  MEN. 

your  whereabouts  ?  Don't  you  remember  that  the  Manor- 
house  is  in  this  neighborhood,  and  that  you  have  both 
promised  to  put  in  a  few  days  there,  if  ever  you  were  in 
this  country?  I  see  that  you  can't  get  much  farther 
with  that  poor  beast  of  yours,  Borradale,  so,  as  tins 
Manor  is  close  at  hand,  I  must  insist  on  your  both  put- 
ting up  there  for  the  night  at  least,  and  when  I  have 
once  got  you  safe  in  Liberty  Hall,  you  will  find  it  such 
comfortable  quarters  you  won't  care  to  move." 

"It's awfully  good  of  you,  old  fellow"  says  Borradale. 
"  I  shall  be  glad  to  accept  your  offer;  it  isn't  much  fun 
riding  an  animal  that  is  dead  lame,  and  we  were  consult- 
ing just  now  as  to  what  were  best  to  be  done,  for  we 
can't  possibly  get  back  to  Shoreham  in  this  plight." 

"  Well,  come  on  now,"  says  Sir  Gregory,  cheerily,  I 
will  send  a  man  over  for  your  traps  in  less  than  two 
hours,  and  if  you  want  any  other  inducement,  you  can 
shoot  all  day  if  you  like,  drive  or  ride  my  thorough- 
breds, besides  having  the  chance  of  seeing  some  of  the 
finest  heads  of  cattle  in  the  shires.  The  coverts  are  in 
fine  condition  just  now,  and  it  will  be  a  godsend  if  you 
two  fellows  will  help  me  shoot  over  them  during  the  next 
few  days  My  cook  is  not  to  bo  despised,  and  if  you  are 
as  fond  of  good  wine  as  you  used  to  be  (with  a  sly  look 
at  Do  Montford)  you  will  find  the  Manor  cellar  equal  to 
the  occasion. 

"  You  offer  us  such  a  list  of  good  things,"  says  De 
Montford,  gayly,  "  there  is  no  resisting  you.  My  only 
surprise  is  that  you  have  been  allowed  to  enjoy  these 
good  things  unmolested  for  so  long." 

"  Eh !  what  ?"  said  the  baronet,  coloring  a  little  un- 
der his  friend's  determined  gaze. 


IN  BACHELOR  QUARTERS.  101 

u  I  mean,  is  there  no  fair  Lady  of  the  Manor  ?  or  are 
you  sure  there  is  not  one  hidden  in  this  delightful 
retreat  ?  Has  Cupid  never  troubled  you,  my  dear  fellow  ? 
or  is  your  heart  adamantine,  and  given  wholly  to  your 
beasts  and  cattle  f 

"  Well,  well,  all  in  good  time,"  replied  Sir  Gregory, 
sheepishly,  but  "here  we  are  at  the  house,  and  now, 
before  we  go  in,  I  want  to  show  you  the  stables." 
Thereupon  the  three  men  stroll  off  in  that  direction, 
having  given  the  horses  to  a  groom  with  minute  direct- 
tions  from  his  master  to  bandage  and  attend  to  the  suf- 
fering animal. 

While  visiting  stables  and  cattle  sheds  the  conver- 
sation between  the  three  friends  degenerates  into  a 
genuine  masculine  gossip,  and  who  will  dare  to  say  that 
of  the  two  genders  the  masculine  will  not  be  by  far  the 
more  voluble  and  searching  a  gossip  than  any  chatter- 
ing that  could  be  gone  through  by  the  feminine  crowd  *? 
The  conversation  having  veered  from  horses  to  cattle, 
and  from  these  latter  to  lovely  woman,  Sir  Gregory  finds 
himself  in  a  corner. 

"  You  have  not  yet  answered  my  question,"  continued 
De  Montford,  rather  enjoying  the  baronet's  discomfiture 
on  this  topic.  "  Now  tell  me,  isn't  there  a  woman  in  the 
case  ?" 

"  Wait  until  you  see  her,"  says  Sir  Gregory  incau- 
tiously ;  then,  having  betrayed  himself,  he  continues,  in  a 
stage  whisper,  "I  am  rather  struck  just  now  by  a  beau- 
tiful and  mysterious  lady,  a  widow,  I  presume,  as  she 
dresses  mostly  in  black,  and  lives  alone  with  a  beautiful 
young  girl  for  her  sole  companion.  Her  name,  I  find,  is 
Mrs.  Eldinere,  and  she  has  taken  the  Grange  for  a  year, 


102  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

lives  there  in  style,  must  have  money,  is  a  divinely 
lovely  woman,  and  a  perfect  horse  woman,"  he  continues 
warming  up  to  his  subject.  "  I  tell  you,  my  dear  fellows, 
she's  thorough-bred  every  inch  of  her,  and  I  swear  I  will 
make  her  acquaintance,  however  difficult  or  improbable 
that  may  seem.  As  she  and  her  friend  both  ride,  I  am 
looking  forward  to  seeing  them  with  us  over  grass 
and  fallow,  and  if  I  can't  make  the  lady's  acquaintance 

then,  somehow,  why  d it,  my  name  isn't  Gregory 

Athelhurst. 

"  That's  right,  old  fellow,  go  in  and  win !"  cries  Eutland 
Borradale  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  Young,  beautiful,  and 
a  widow  !  what  more  could  any  man  desire  ?  and  I  sup- 
pose, as  you  have  no  designs  on  her  pretty  friend,  one 
of  us  poor  fellows  might  have  a  chance  there.  No  wonder 
that  you  are  getting  tired  of  bachelorhood,  with  such  a 
tempting  prospect  as  the  handsome  widow  presents,  for 
of  course  any  woman  would  think  twice  before  she  re- 
fused a  title  (this  is  said  rather  satirically),  and  if  she  is 
fond  of  country  life  and  sport,  you  will  have  no  difficulty 
in  persuading  her  to  a  change  of  name." 

"I  am  growing  quite  curious  to  see  the  fair  lady,  says 
de  Montford,  and  hope  you  will  manage  it  while  we  are 
here." 

But  in  the  meantime,  after  Sir  Gregory  had  with  great 
pride  shown  his  friends  all  the  various  beauties  to  be  seen 
in  the  stables  and  out-houses  attached  to  the  Manor,  he 
took  them  both  up  to  the  house,  quite  ready  to  be  intro- 
duced to  the  good  comfortable  quarters  he  had  promised ; 
but  alas !  at  this  early  hour  in  the  afternoon  he  is  appar- 
ently not  expected  home,  and  he  finds  that  the  angry 
Mrs.  Dolan  reigns  supreme  to  the  exclusion  of  outside 


IiV  BACHELOR  QUARTERS,  103 

authority.  The  gentlemen  are  therefore  prepared  to  be 
astonished  at  nothing,  and  are  not  even  startled  when, 
issuing  from  the  direction  of  the  drawing-room,  they 
hear  the  most  lugubrious  sounds. 

Thump,  thump,  thump  !  and  with  the  loud  pedal  well 
down,  fall  the  clumsy  fingers  of  the  ambitious  Daddy 
Dolan  on  the  keys  of  Sir  Gregory's  grand-piano,  and  as 
the  gentlemen  enter  the  room  unseen,  she  raises  her  voice 
in  a  loud,  unmusical  wail,  whose  tuue  is,  alas,  unrecog- 
nizable ! 

The  voice  of  her  master  calls  her  from  her  dreams  of 
bliss  rather  unfeelingly : 

"  Why  don't  you  get  a  sledge-hammer  ?" 

With  a  scream  and  a  kick  which  reduces  the  piano-stool 
to  a  lowly  position  among  the  flowers  of  the  carpet, 
Daddy  flies,  with  her  head  hidden  under  her  apron,  and 
the  three  gentlemen  laugh  heartily,  though  Sir  Gregory, 
as  he  picks  up  the  fallen  stool,  mutters  audibly:  "  This 
is  what  comes  of  being  a  bachelor.  I  am  not  even  mas- 
ter in  my  own  house." 

Here  Mrs.  Dolan  reappears,  and  in  a  very  aggrieved  and 
dignified  voice  murmurs,  with  her  hands  folded  before 
her: 

"  Well,  Sir  Gregory,  what's  for  dinner?" 

"Dinner !"  cries  the  baronet,  looking  as  thunderstruck 
as  though  he  never  expected  to  have  any  that  day. 

"  Yes,  sir,  dinner,"  in  a  still  more  aggrieved  way. 

"  I  thought  dinner  was  cooked  long  ago." 

"  Cooked  !"  retorts  the  house-keeper,  "  when  no  bor- 
ders was  given,  and  no  one  to  give  'em." 

"  Couldn't  you  have  given  the  orders  ?"  shouts  Sir 
Gregory,  in  a  towering  temper,  "  or  what  do  you  do  all 


104  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

day?"  This  looks  hopeful  for  Mrs.  Dolan,  and  she  tri- 
umphs secretly,  but  outwardly  she  wipes  away  an  angry 
tear  with  the  corner  of  her  white  apron. 

"You  know  very  well,  sir,  that  I  have  resigned /i;il  I 
/iauthority  in  this  'ouse,  since  I'm.  engaged  packing  to 
leave  at  your  orders  next  month." 

"  Tut,  woman  !  In  the  mean  time  I'm  d sure  I'm 

not  going  to  do  without  my  dinner  every  day.  So  put 
off  the  packing  and  go  about  your  business,  and  that 
quickly  !"  thunders  Sir  Gregory,  knowing  in  his  inmost 
heart  that  he  Is,  as  usual,  going  to  be  the  loser  in  the 
argument. 

"  What  do  you  wish  for  dinner,  Sir  Gregory  ?"  pursues 
the  relentless  house-keeper. 

"  Oh,  anything,"  scornfully ;  "  anything  that  I  can 
carve — chops,  steaks — and  be  quick  I"  for  Sir  Gregory, 
being  portly,  remembers  to  have  suffered  severely  from 
over-exertion  on  one  occasion  when  he  carved  a  turkey 
for  twelve  persons,  and  he  thinks  it  detracts  from  his 
pleasure  in  dining  to  have  to  mop  his  brow  in  the  very 
middle  of  dislocating  the  drumstick, 

Mrs.  Dolan,  I  think,  likewise  remembers  the  occasion 
in  question,  for  later,  while  a  generous  dinner  is  being- 
served,  there  appears  on  the  table  before  Sir  Gregory  a 
magnificent  bird,  something  of  the  description  of  the 
despised  turkey ;  and  the  baronet  finds  ample  reason  to 
curse  his  house-keeper  for  being  so  clever. 

"  If  I  don't  settle  that  woman !"  snarls  Sir  Gregory. 
"  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't  be  married  just  to  get  the  better 
of  her!"  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  until  he  gets  actually 
•wearied  of  the  hanging  business,  as  applied  to  Mrs. 
Dolan. 


IN  BA CHEL OR  QUAR TERS.  105 

"Well,  De  Moutford,"  cries  jolly  Sir  Gregory  late  that 
night,  as  they  are  retiring  after  a  long  evening  spent  in 
dining  copiously,  and  quaffing  of  the  oldest  vintages 
offered  by  the  Athelhurst  cellar,  and  that  very  ap- 
parently to  no  sparing  amount,  "  I  have  your  promise  to 
bring  the  earl  down  for  the  big  meet  at  Drislehurst,  and 
we  shall  have  a  royal  day,  or  rather  week  of  it,  I  hope. 
Borradale  there  loves  pretty  women  and  flue  horses  as 
well  as  the  best  of  us,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  stay  with  me 
till  then." 

"  That,  I  fear,  is  impossible,"  begins  Borradale,  but  is 
summarily  interrupted  by  his  host. 

"  Tut,  man !  you  are  my  prisoner  now  in  these  ghostly  old 
halls,  and  as  such  I  declare  you  to  be  incapable  of  decid- 
ing for  yourself  in  any  matter  to-night.  So,  until  to-mor- 
row, just  yield  to  the  inevitable,  which  at  this  moment, 
as  I  see  your  eyes  are  blinking,  is  sleep.  I  could  be  an 
all-nighter,  but  you  young  ones  can't  be  expected  to 
stand  under  all  I  can." 

Whereat  Sir  Gregory,  on  his  way  to  his  own  particular 
sanctum,  endeavors  to  describe  the  ever-widening  circles 
of  a  hawk  on  the  wing. 

The  last  thoughts  that  present  themselves  to  the  minds 
of  De  Moutford  and  Rutland  Borradale,  ere  in  sleep  they 
lose  all  power  of  unravelling  problematical  questions,  are 
somewhat  similar. 

"This  beautiful  inconnue  of  Sir  Gregory's,"  thinks  the 
former,  "  who  may  she  be  ?  She  has  rather  interested 
me.  I  declare  to  heaven  I  think  I'll  stay  and  solve  the 
mystery.  It  may  turn  up  something  to  my  advantage, 
and  it  can't  harm  me  !  Who  knows  if  I  might  not  even 
win  an  heiress,  and  that,  faith,  will  be  acceptable  j  for  if 


106  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

I  don't  do  that  pretty  soon  I  shall  have  to  look  up  New 
York,  -with  its  own  peculiar  style  of  thinking  and  its 
more  peculiar  style  of  marrying.  To  win  a  pile  here  will 
be  to  save  an  odious  journey,  so  here  goes  for  it ! 

"  They  say  she  has  a  husband  somewhere  1"  The  fact 
looks  rather  important,  but  it  does  not  have  a  very 
dampening  effect  upon  De  Montford's  resolutions.  "  No 
matter,"  he  thinks 5  "she  will,  no  doubt,  be  willing 
enough  to  go  through  the  courts  if  the  inducements  be 
made  sufficiently  fetching,  or  if  the  thumb-screw  be 
applied  with  sufficient  determination ;  and —  I  think  I 
have  mastered  lovely  women  before." 

With  a  contented  expression  he  falls  asleep,  and  in 
his  dreams  he  has  a  wealthy  heiress  at  his  feet  hunger- 
ing for  his  smiles,  which  makes  him  happy. 

Not  less  interested  in  the  beautiful  unknown  is  Eut- 
land  Borradale,  but  his  interest  in  the  matter  is  more  or 
less  unselfish,  as  it  springs  entirely  from  a  feeling  of 
camaraderie  towards  his  host,  and  an  intense  appre- 
ciation of  the  humorous  side  of  the  question.  He  there- 
fore falls  asleep  promising  himself,  if  he  be  persuaded  to 
make  a  longer  stay  with  Sir  Gregory  than  had  been  his 
intention,  to  witness  at  least  some  rather  ridiculous  and 
spicy  love  scenes. 


TRACED  IN  RUBIES.  107 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TRACED  IN  BUSIES. 

Next  morning,  notwithstanding  the  revel  overnight, 
all  is  bustle  at  the  Manor-house.  Sir  Gregory  has  of- 
fered the  two  young  men  each  a  fine  mount,  and  the 
meet  being  at  a  distance,  they  have  to  make  an  early 
start ;  so,  after  partaking  of  a  hasty  breakfast,  all  three 
ride  off  in  the  best  possible  spirits,  anticipating  the  day's 
enjoyments. 

But  For  tune  does  not  favor  them ;  the  hounds  do  noth- 
ing in  particular,  and  after  a  rather  disappointing  day 
they  find  themselves  leisurely  riding  homeward  about 
three  o'clock  that  same  afternoon.  They  are  a  some- 
what silent  party ;  the  horses  are  tired  and  jaded,  and 
Sir  Gregory  is  not  in  the  best  of  tempers,  as  he  had  prom- 
ised himself  a  fine  day's  sport,  and  looking  upon  their 
continued  ill  luck  as  a  great  want  of  consideration  on  the 
part  of  Providence,  he  is  greatly  disgusted  at  their  non- 
success. 

As  they  ride  onward,  the  country  begins  to  look  fa- 
miliar, and  at  last  they  reach  a  low  stone  wall  that  borders 
the  Grange  estate.  Here  Rutland  Borradale  falls  a  little 
behind  his  companions  and  allows  them  to  get  several 
paces  ahead;  he  is  riding  in  a  listless  kind  of  way;  his 
face  looks  dark  and  sad ;  perhaps  thoughts  are  running 
in  his  mind  of  a  day  long  ago  when  he  had  hoped  all 
things  of  woman's  love,  and  had  seen  his  hopes  wrecked. 


108  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

As  he  and  his  companions  proceed,  however,  the 
country  grows  to  look  a  little  more  like  home,  and  this 
rather  cheers  the  riders,  as,  man-like,  they  promise  them- 
selves something  warmly  comforting  when  they  shall 
leave  their  saddles. 

As  they  find  themselves  passing  along  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Grange  walls,  from  which  to  the  Manor- 
house  is  but  a  step — otherwise  a  quarter  of  a  mile— they 
are  startled  at  sight  of  the  lithe  form  of  a  greyhound 
which,  leaping  from  behind  to  the  top  of  the  Grange 
wall,  lands  on  the  road  near  them,  as  graceful  and  light 
as  a  featber  wafted  by  summer  winds.  Rutland  Borra- 
dale's  eyes  followed  the  retreating  form  of  the  handsome 
hound  rather  indifferently ;  while  the  dusky  shadows 
thrown  by  the  trees,  interweaving  overhead,  prevented 
him  from  observing  the  dog's  points  more  fully  as  the 
latter  disappeared  over  a  neighboring  fence,  to  reap- 
pear, however,  lower  down.  Here  the  hound  stands 
revealed  in  a  full  burst  of  sunshine,,  and  Rutland  Bor- 
radale,  as  he  spurs  his  horse  forward,  is  observed  by  his 
companions  to  change  color. 

"  Whose  is  he  ?"  cried  Borradale,  disconnectedly 
(apropos  to  them  of  nothing).  "  Whose  ?  I  do  not 
think.  I  think  some —  No,  I  think — " 

Here  sir  Gregory  breaks  in  with  "Do  you  often  think 
aloud,-  my  dear  fellow,  in  such  disconnected  language  ?" 
which  remark  has  the  effect  of  making  Borradale  subdue 
some  powerful  emotion,  which  has  come  near  mastering 
him ;  and  with  a  light  remark  he  turns  the  tables  on 
his  opponent. 

"  My  incoherency  was  owing  to  an  eagerness  on  your 
account.  Is  not  that  your  adored  one's  hound  ?" 


TRACED  IN  RUBIES.  109 

"  Why,  so  it  must  be,"  cries  the  baronet  iii  astonish- 
ment, noticing  the  dog  for  the  first  time. 

"And  therefore  the  object  of  your  courtly  admiration 
cannot  be  far  away." 

"  By  Jove !  if  you  aren't  right."  And  here  Sir 
Gregory,  with  a  heart  that  seems  to  go  up  and  down 
like  a  field  of  mangold-wurzel  in  autumn,  with  a  buinp 
here,  and  a  hollow  there,  and  all  turned  higgledy:pig- 
gledy,  proceeds  to  do  some  earnest  prowling  for  the 
longed-for  sight  of  a  gate  cut  in  the  Grange  wall,  but 
none  appearing,  he  turns  by  way  of  pastime  to  watch 
the  hound,  snuffing  among  the  fallen  dried  leaves,  prob- 
ably for  a  hedgehog  (ladies'  dogs  are  good  for  rooting 
out  pig-headed  little  hedgehogs  and  making  a  fuss 
about  it).  Then  Rutland  Borradale,  gently  pressing 
spurs  to  his  horse's  sides,  proceeds  calmly  on  his  home- 
ward way,  but  not  without  having  first  whistled  to  the 
hound,  calling  him  by  name  in  a  masterful  voice: 

"Lion!  Lion!  to  heel,  sir!" 

Suddenly  the  dog,  to  the  astonishment  of  Sir  Gregory 
and  De  Montford,  lifts  his  noble  crest,  pricks  up  his  ears, 
and  in  the  flash  of  a  thought  has  passed  them  with  a 
loud  yelp,  and  has  thrown  himself  madly  upon  Rutland 
Borradale.  Astonishment  is  succeeded  in  their  minds 
by  fear  for  their  friend's  safety,  as  the  only  explanation 
to  them  of  the  matter  is  rabies  in  the  dog !  but  soon, 
however,  they  find  that  the  gallant  hound  is  covering 
Borradale  with  canine  caresses,  licking  his  hands,  toes, 
leathers,  cords,  everything,  with  an  occasional  little  yelp 
of  delight,  even  rubbing  the  clay  and  leaves  off  his  own 
nose  onto  that  of  the  gentleman. 

"Quiet,  Lion!  quiet,  old  fellow!"  mutters  Borradale, 


110  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

and  seeing  that  he  has  turned  a  bend  in  the  road,  which 
hides  him  from  his  companions,  he  lowers  his  head  over 
that  of  the  hound  and  examines  the  dog's  collar.  This 
is  a  beautifully  elaborate  piece  of  workmanship,  bearing 
the  mythical  inscription  that  he  has  seen  somewhere 
often  before,  executed  in  tiny  diamoud  chips,  "With  my 
heart  forever !" 

He  reads  still  further,  something  that  makes  his  lips 
quiver,  it  is  the  word  wrought  in  glittering  red  stones, 
"  Never !" 

"  Elra !  Elra !  she  loves  me  still,  she  will  not  dare  deny 
it,"  and  unclasping  the  rich  collar  which  opens  only  to 
the  pressure  of  a  secret  spring,  he  gives  the  dog  a  tender, 
long,  maudlin  hug,  and  then,  sitting  erect  once  more  in 
his  saddle,  after  having  placed  the  collar  in  safety,  some- 
where about  the  region  of  his  waistcoat,  looks  as  emo- 
tionless as  though  his  heart  was  not  throbbing  in  wildest 
rebellion  against  his  breast-pocket. 

"  Hello,  Bor. !  we  thought  you  were  home  by  now," 
says  Sir  Gregory.  "  Sly  dog,  who  knows  all  about  the 
lady  of  the  Grange,  and  won't  tell  others  who  might 
like  to  know.  Well,  well !"  he  continues,  putting  spurs 
to  his  horse,  "we'll  get  square ;  but  first  we  must  dine  side 
by  side,  to  show  there's  no  ill  feeling,  you  know !"  and  he 
gives  a  knowing  wink,  which  Borradale  does  not  ap- 
preciate, and  in  reply  to  which  he  denies  all  knowledge 
about  Mrs.  Eldmere,  although  the  hound,  he  maintains, 
is  one  he  has  once  sold  at  a  very  high  price  to  a  dog 
fancier,  previous  to  starting  for  a  tour  on  the  European 
continent.  A  silvery  whistle  interrupts  the  knowing 
laugh  with  which  Sir  Gregory  answers  this  "yarn,"  as 
he  terms  it,  and  at  the  words  "  Get  back  there,  hound," 


HE    UNCHAINED     THE     RICH     COLLAR,    WHICH     OPENED     ONLY     ON    THE 
PRESSURE  OF  A  SECRET  SPRING. 

Paae  110. 


TRACED  IN  RUBIES.  Ill 

from  Borradale,  the  dog  skims  lightly  over  the  high 
moss-grown  wall  back  again  into  the  Grange  meadows. 
There  he  is  greeted  by  a  little  murmur  of  delight  from 
his  mistress,  and  a  little  cry  of  astonishment  from  her 
companion,  Topsie. 

"  Why,  what  nas  become  of  his  collar?"  cries  Mrs. 
Eldmere  in  dismay.  "  Ob,  it  could  not  have  been  a 
tramp  who  stole  it!  he  would  never  find  the  secret 
spring.  Who  could  it  be  ?  I  remember  but  one  who 
ever  knew  the  secret,  and  he — " 

"  Oh,  Elra,  that  lovely  collar !"  says  Topsie,  regretfully, 
"  I  always  knew  it  would  be  stolen  some  day !  the  only 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  offer  a  very  large  reward  for  its 
recovery — " 

"  Perhaps !  I  don't  know,"  is  Mrs.  Eldmere's  answer  to 
her  friend's  amazement,  but  the  latter  cannot  hear  the 
muttered  words,  "  If  only  it  were  he !" 

"  Elra,  dearest,  I  have  an  idea !"  cries  Topsie  suddenly, 
as  they  are  walking  slowly  back  to  the  house  followed 
by  Lion.  "  Let  us  go  down  to  old  Peter's  cottage  and 
tell  him  about  your  loss  j  he  is  crazy  enough  sometimes, 
I  think,  but  he  might  make  inquiries  in  the  village  for 
us,  and  I  know  that  he  will  do  anything  for  you  or  me." 

"  It's  not  a  bad  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Eldmere  thoughtfully ; 
"let  us  go  across  the  fields;  the  sooner  something  is 
done  the  more  chance  there  is  of  finding  the  collar,  and 
old  Peter  knows  all  the  country  folks  for  miles  around. 
Come,  Lion,  we  will  take  you  with  nsf  and  turning 
briskly  in  the  opposite  direction  the  two  ladies  are  soon 
out  of  sight  across  the  fields  on  their  way  to  old  Peter's 
cottage. 

This  individual  being  somewhat  of  a  character,  de- 


112  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

serves  a  few   words   of  introduction,    which  are  here 
given : 

Peter  Long  had  been  one  of  the  old  family  retainers 
in  the  house  of  Eaveustone  during  two  generations.  He 
had  seen  the  old  marquis  grow  up  and  die,  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  his  son,  the  present  owner  of  the  title;  and  old 
Peter,  as  huntsman  to  the  Marquis  of  Ripdale,  considered 
himself  as  much  part  and  parcel  of  the  family  as  the 
gloomy  old  mansion-house  of  Eavenstone  itself.  He  had 
lived  there,  man  and  boy,  for  over  fifty  years,. and  could 
as  little  bear  transplanting  as  any  of  the  sturdy  old  oaks 
upon  the  place.  So  that  when  the  present  marquis,  a 
man  of  fast  life  and  dissolute  habits,  came  to  his  own, 
and  Peter  found  himself  curtly  dismissed,  he  obstinately 
refused  to  leave,  and  gave  the  marquis  to  understand 
that  he  intended  to  live  and  die  in  his  old  home  at  Eaven- 
stone. This  obstinacy  so  incensed  his  new  master  that 
he  gave  peremptory  orders  for  the  old  man's  removal, 
and  old  Peter  was  turned  out  bag  and  baggage,  no  one 
daring  to  oppose  the  cruel  power  of  the  proud  and 
haughty  marquis.  This  blow  nearly  broke  old  Peter's 
heart,  and  for  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  his  mind  was  weak- 
ened, but  he  had  some  kind  friends  left,  and  by  their  help 
he  was  established  in  a  little  cottage  in  the  woods, 
where  he  now  lived  on  the  small  pittance  allowed  him 
by  the  ladies  of  Eavenstone,  who,  though  they  were 
powerless  to  prevent  his  dismissal,  contrived  to  assist  the 
poor  old  fellow  unknown  to  their  brother.  Peter's  hut, 
or  cottage,  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  woods,  and  often 
the  passers-by  could  hear  him  cheering  on  the  dogs,  imi- 
tating the  bugle  call,  with  loud  cries  of  "Tally-ho!  tally- 
ho  1"  as  he  roamed  through  the  woods,  for  in  his  crazy 


TRACED  IN  RUBIES.  113 

moods  lie  was  once  more  the  gallant  hardy  huntsman  of 
former  days,  and  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoof  or  the  bark 
of  a  dog  would  often  be  enough  to  rouse  him  when 
nothing  else  would.  Topsie  had  known  old  Peter  from 
her  childhood,  and  she  it  was  who  had  done  the  most  for 
1dm  in  his  lonely  exile.  He  would  never  want  whjle  slio 
could  help  him,  and  Peter  loved  the  very  ground  his  dear 
missie  (as  he  called  her)  trod  on.  Twice  in  her  life  had 
he  been  at  hand  to  save  her  from  great  peril :  once  as  a 
child,  when  riding,  he  had  caught  her  from  the  saddle  as 
her  pony,  mad  with  fright,  had  leaped  into  the  quarry  be- 
low j  and  again,  when  the  doors  of  her  own  home  had  been 
closed  to  her,  sbe  had  crept  to  old  Peter's  cottage  and 
passed  two  days  in  hiding  there ;  so  that  Topsie's  love 
for  the  poor  crazy  fellow  was  only  equalled  by  her  pity 
for  his  lonely  condition  and  wrecked  life. 

Mrs.  Eldrnere  and  Topsie,  meanwhile,  had  crossed  the 
fields  and  were  entering  a  little  glade  in  the  woods,  which 
now  stood  in  the  budding  beauty  of  approaching  spring. 
It  was  carpeted  with  moss,  greener  than  emerald  and 
softer  than  velvet,  and  the  faint  sweet  perfume  of  violets 
mingled  with  the  soft  breath  of  a  light  breeze  which 
played  around  them,  ruffling  the  plumes  of  Mrs.  Eld- 
mere's  dainty  hat  and  tossing  the  red-gold  locks  of  the 
young  girl  into  still  more  picturesque  confusion. 

"  Hunting  will  soon  he  over,"  said  Topsie  with  a  sigh,  as 
she  drew  a  long  breath  of  the  fragrant  perfume  which  now 
filled  the  air.  "  I  alsvays  remember  how  Peter  hated  the 
violets  when  they  came,  and  I  never  could  bring  him 
to  admit  any  beauty  in  flowers.  '  Drat  them  vilets  !' 
was  his  usual  reply;  '  they  spoils  the  scent  for  us,  and 
that's  all  I  care  about.'  However,  it's  a  good  thing  there 


114  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,  MEN. 

won't  be  much  more  hard  riding,  for  Irish  King  is  getting 
very  tender  on  his  forefeet,  and  I  am  afraid  he  won't  be 
good  for  much  after  this  year." 

"That  reminds  me,  dearest,"  says  Elra  with  a  loving 
smile,  "  I  never  told  you  that  I  was  negotiating  for  a  new 
horse  for  you.  Such  a  fearless  rider  needs  a  better  mount 
than  the  poor  old  King,  and  I  mean  you  to  have  a  steed 
worthy  of  your  equestrian  powers." 

"  Oh,  Elra  !"  you  darling,"  cries  the  girl,  impulsively 
tbrowiug  her  arms  round  her  companion's  neck  and  giv- 
ing her  a  fond  kiss.  "  How  good  of  you  to  think  of  it ; 
but  please  don't  buy  the  horse  now ;  it  would  only  be 
idle,  eating  its  head  off  in  the  stable  all  summer,  and  the 
King  carries  me  beautifully  in  our  country  rides  ;  he  is 
only  found  wanting  on  the  hard  dusty  road." 

"  Well,  we  will  see,"  is  Mrs.  Eldmere's  answer.  "  I 
haven't  heard  of  a  suitable  animal  yet,  so  it  may  be  best 
to  wait,  as  you  suggest,  though  I  will  tell  Robert  to  keep 
his  eyes  open,  and  if  he  hears  of  a  lady's  hunter  being 
for  sale  to  let  me  know  of  it." 

They  found  old  Peter  in,  and  after  fully  explaining  the 
lost  collar  to  him  Topsie  said : 

"  Now,  Peter,  this  collar  must  be  found,  and  if  any  of 
the  villagers  know  anything  about  it  I  am  sure  we  can 
trust  you  to  find  it  out " 

"  That  ye  can,  missie,"  says  the  old  man  with  a  chuckle 
of  delight.  "I'm  spry  enough  still,  and  if  that  there 
dog's  collar  has  been  stole  by  any  one  as  lives  within 
ten  miles  o'  here,  I'm  bound  to  hear  about  it.  You  trust 
me,  missie ;  they  all  thinks  I'm  daft,  and  takes  no  care  what 
they  says  afore  me,  so  I'll  just  go  down  and  have  a  mug 
of  ale  at  the  Hare  and  Hounds,  where  I'll  likely  hear  all 
ye  want  to  know." 


TRA  CED  IN  R  UBIES.  1 15 

"That's  right,  Peter;  we  knew  you  would  help  us; 
here's  the  money  for  the  ale,  but  mind  you  don't  stay  too 
long  or  drink  too  much ;"  and  with  this  injunction  the 
ladies  left  him  and  returned  to  the  Grange  by  the  same 
way  as  they  had  come.  As  they  reached  the  house 
Mrs.  Eldmere  said :  u  We  had  better  renew  our  search 
now,  Topsie — I  am  so  determined  to  find  that  missing 
link ;"  and  they  go  up  to  an  old  lumber-room  and  are 
soon  pouring  over  a  collection  of  dust-begrimed  papers 
which  lie  hidden  in  the  depths  of  a  worm-eaten  oaken 
cliest. 


116  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

LION    FINDS    A    MASTER. 

Yes,  there  is  no  denying  it,  life  at  the  Grange  is 
dull,  very  dull,  and  its  quietude  is  beginning  to  tell  on 
Mrs.  Eldmere,  though  she  scarcely  dares  to  admit  it, 
even  to  herself.  But  to-day,  somehow,  the  ghost  of  the 
past  has  risen  from  its  grave,  and,  sitting  there  in  her 
quiet  boudoir,  with  hands  idly  folded  and  eyes  gazing 
listlessly  out  on  the  lovely  glowing  landscape,  which 
seems  but  to  mock  her  with  its  brightness,  Mrs.  Eldmere 
thinks  of  those  happy  days  now  past  and  gone.  As  the 
lovely  American  heiress,  who  had  there  been  so  courted 
and  flattered  as  she,  when  in  the  zenith  of  her  girlish 
beauty  she  had  queened  it  at  ball  and  reception — when 
her  name  was  upon  every  lip,  and  the  homage  of  every 
man  was  laid  at  her  feet  ?  Society  had  chosen  her  for 
queen,  and  for  two  happy  years  she  had  reigned ;  her 
life  had  been  full  of  gayety  and  brightness ;  now  all  was 
changed,  and  she  felt  herself  left  lonely  and  deserted, 
though  in  burying  herself  at  the  Grange  she  had  volun- 
tarily cut  herself  off  from  all  society,  and  her  hiding- 
place  was  even  now  unknown  to  many  of  her  friends. 

"It  is  not  only  for  myself,"  she  says,  as  she  rises  and 
impatiently  paces  the  floor  of  her  pretty  room.  "  That 
poor  child  who  shares  ray  exile;  what  must  this  dull  life 
mean  to  her  ?  I  was  wrong  to  let  her  come,  and  though 
I  doubt  not  her  love  and  fidelity  to  me,  I  must  not  suffer 
her  sacrifice  to  be  too  irksome. 


LION  FINDS  A  MASTER.  317 

"  Life,"  sbe  continues  plaintively,  "  is  a  sorry  problem. 
Yesterday  a  reigning  queen ;  to-day  a  solitary,  despised 
hermit.  But,  oh  !  better  so.  Better  to  live  alone  and  die 
unnoticed  than  to  count  hours  of  lingering  torture  by  the 
side  of  Murray  Cresenworth. 

(For  Mrs.  Eldmere,  the  lady  of  the  Grange,  is  indeed 
Elra  Cresenworth — who,  having  vainly  tried  to  yield 
loving  allegiance  to  her  adoring  husband,  has  at  last  fled 
from  him  in  despair,  and  buried  berself  in  the  loneliest 
little  nook  in  Sussex,  hoping  that  her  lord  and  master 
may  never  see  her  again.) 

"After  all,  the  human  heart  grows  accustomed  to 
changes,  and  I  shall  live  my  sorrow  down,  I  suppose. 
Things  might  be  infinitely  worse,  for  I  have  Topsie,  with 
her  glorious  intelligence  and  her  darling  gentle  ways. 

(As  she  is  speaking,  a  clock  in  the  room  strikes  eleven 
with  silvery  tones,  and  Mrs.  Eldmere  starts  with  a  cry 
of  surprise.) 

"  How  late  already ;  and  we  are  to  ride  this  morning." 

So,  hastily  gathering  up  some  letters  which  lie  open  on 
the  table  before  her,  she  turns  and  leaves  the  room  to 
don  her  hat  and  habit. 

Half  an  hour  later  finds  her  standing  in  the  hall,  Avhip 
in  hand  and  with  a  smile  on  her  face,  for  as  she  knows 
the  sharp  eyes  of  Miss  Topsie  would  quickly  search  her 
soul,  she  is  determined  to  hide,  even  from  her,  the  un- 
satisfied longings  and  vain  regrets  that  she  has  lately 
indulged  in. 

"Come,  Topsie  dear,  aren't  you  ready?"  she  cries  to 
her  young  companion  (who  was  in  herself  somewhat  of  a 
mystery  to  the  people  about,  being  known  as  Topsie  to 
all  her  friends,  and  apparently  possessing  no  surname  by 


118  HER  PL  A  YTHIKGS,   MEN. 

which  to  distinguish  her).  "  It  will  be  a  glorious  morning 
for  a  ride,  and  Irish  King  is  getting  so  impatient." 

"  Coming  !  coming!"  cries  a  fresh  young  voice,  and  Miss 
Topsie  appears,  clad  in  a  smart,  well-fitting  habit  and 
jaunty  hat,  from  under  whose  brim  her  bright,  dark  eyes 
glance  mischievously,  and,  with  a  smile  that  shows  every 
one  of  her  brilliant  white  teeth,  the  young  lady  runs 
down  the  steps  to  fondle  her  horse  and  give  him  his  ac- 
customed lump  of  sugar. 

"  You  will  spoil  the  king,"  says  Mrs.  Eldmere  smiling, 
"  and  you  should  always  give  him  his  reward  when  the 
ride  is  over,  not  before  the  start." 

"  That's  just  where  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  says  Top- 
sie, brightly.  "'Duty  first  and  pleasure  after'  is  a 
stupid  saying.  I  make  it  pleasure  first.  Perchance  apres 
one  may  have  to  do  the  duty,  but  I  always  get  out  of  it 
if  I  can." 

"  Well,  where  shall  we  go?"  says  Mrs.  Eldmere  when 
they  were  both  mounted  and  indulging  in  a  preparatory 
canter  down  the  avenue  with  Lion  at  the  horses'  heels. 

"  Let's  go  round  by  Chanconbury  King,  and  see  if  the 
fairies  have  finished  their  revels.  You  know  they  always 
have  a  good  time  at  midsummer,  at  least  the  story-books 
tell  us  that,  and  I  would  dearly  like  to  have  my  three 
wishes  fulfilled." 

"Well,  what  do  you  wish  for,  dear?"  says  her  com- 
panion, amused  at  the  girlish  chatter. 

"  First,  a  pair  of  wings,  which  would  fly  with  me 
wherever  I  wished  to  roam  ;  a  purse  like  that  of  Fortu- 
natus,  never  empty ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  to  be  a  bril- 
liant financier  or  statesman  with  the  world  at  my  feet. 
I  am  restless,  ambitious,  extravagant,  and  these  three 


LION  FINDS  A  MASTER.  119 

longings  would  then  be  gratified.    Now  what  do  you 
want,  ElraF 

"  Ob,  I !"  said  Mrs.  Eldmere,  with  a  start  and  change 
of  color.  "  I  want  to  find  Lion  at  present.  Do  you  see 
him,  Topsie  t  He  has  missed  us,  I  fear." 

"Why  there  he  is!"  she  cried,  pointing  to  a  solitary 
horseman  in  the  field  ahead  of  the  riders,  towards  whose 
knee  the  dog  was  leaping  with  spasmodic  efforts.  There 
is  Lion  springing  on  that  man.  Can  he  be  going  to 
attack  him?  What  can  be  the  matter?  Why,  he  is 
caressing  Lion !" 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,  Topsie,"  said  Mrs.  Eldmere, 
growing  suddenly  pale,  "Lion  has  never  suffered  any 
one  to  caress  him  but  one  man,  and  be —  It  cannot  be." 
Hastily  crossing  the  fence  they  came  up  closer  to  the 
horseman,  who  did  not  even  turn  in  his  saddle,  but  acted 
as  if  he  were  totally  unaware  of  their  presence.  Elra 
called  Lion  to  her  side,  but  for  once  he  did  not  respond, 
and  remained  gazing  up  at  the  rider,  his  very  beautiful 
head  almost  touching  the  tips  of  the  gentleman's  patent 
leather  boots. 

And  now  Topsie  receives  somewhat  of  a  shock  as  she 
concludes  that  the  man  before  them  is  a  total  stranger^ 
if  she  might  judge  by  the  greeting  he  received  ;  yet,  on 
glancing  at  Mrs.  Eldraere,  she  sees  her  trembling  with 
vexation  or  some  other  indefinable  emotion. 

But  here  the  gentleman,  at  whose  knee  Lion  persists 
in  trotting,  wheels  his  horse  round,  giving  Mrs.  Eldmere 
room  to  pass.  They  exchange  a  long,  steady  look,  charg- 
ed with  defiance  on  both  sides ;  a  deep,  dangerous  glance, 
which  stirs  their  very  souls  and  bridges  over  many  a 
weary  month,  and  which,  in  its  very  intensity  of  pain,  is 


120  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

intensity  of  keenest  pleasure,  but  passing,  it  leaves  the 
lady  looking  very  haughty  and  unsubdued  as  she  ad- 
vances with  an  almost  imperceptible  acknowledgment  of 
his  salutation,  and  does  not  even  offer  to  call  Lion  to  her 
side.  But  Borradale,  for  it  was  he,  with  fully  as  haughty 
a  glance,  watches  their  retreating  figures  with  some  mut- 
tered words,  the  spelling  of  which  would  be  very  difficult 
to  accomplish. 

He  remains,  apparently  rooted  to  the  ground,  in  the 
middle  of  the  field,  like  some  old  statue  of  some  older 
king,  transported  there  to  frighten  the  preying  rooks, 
until  he  catches  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  ladies'  skirts  flat- 
tering to  the  ground. 

She  has  descended,  ostensibly,  to  unbar  a  five-rail 
gate,  but  she  seems  to  find  it  so  pleasant  on  the  soft 
mosses  that  carpet  the  banks  fringed  with  blackthorn 
that  she  has  suffered  herself  to  sink  down  among  the 
golden  kingcups  and  mosses,  and  seems  to  think  she  is 
going  to  remain  there.  A  few  powerful  strides  brings 
Rutland  Borradale's  horse  alongside,  and  then  he  sees 
it  is  Mrs.  Eldmere,  who,  with  the  tears  of  mortification 
ami  anger  frozen  in  her  eyes,  and  with  a  face  colorless  as 
her  kerchief,  has  sunk  down  pale  and  trembling  as  the 
aspen  in  the  breeze.  Topsie  is  beside  her  in  a  moment, 
and  offers  remedies  none  of  them  half  so  effectual  as  the 
reappearance  of  the  (to  her)  strange  gentleman  on  the 
scene. 

"  What  secret  misery  is  the  cause  of  this  emotion  ?" 
thinks  Topsie,  with  a  sad  shake  of  her  wise  little  head ; 
"1  have  never  seen  her  ruffled  yet." 

As  Mr.  Borradale  looks  at  her  something  soft  and  pity- 
ing creeps  into  his  eyes  and  he  says  a  few  gentle  words, 


LION  FINDS  A  MASTER.  121 

which,  however,  do  not  seem  to  have  at  all  the  desired 
effect.  Elra  thinks  she  hears  a  triumphant  ring  in  his 
voice,  and  hastily  rising,  with  proudly  erect  head,  she 
springs  into  the  saddle,  disdaining  his  proffered  help 
and  taking  that  of  Tupsie.  "  Come,  Lion  P  she  says, 
commandingly,  but  Lion  lingers  by  Borradale. 

"  He  has  had  a  master  before  he  acknowledged  a  mis- 
tress," murmurs  the  young  man,  with  a  challenge  in  his 
eyes  and  voice. 

"Then  he  can  still  lick  the  hand  of  the  master,  and 
bend  to  his  sovereign  rule,  for  no  mistress  will  whistle 
for  him  again !" 

"Mrs.  Murray  Cresen worth  is  mistaken  if  she  thinks 
that  Rutland  Borradale  reclaims  that  which  he  has  once 
given,  be  it  so  insignificant  a  gift  as  that  of  a  dog,  or 
even  that  of  his  own  heart's  affection.  He  never  takes 
back  what  lie  has  once  given  !" 

Entirely  calm  he  stood  there  as  those  quietly  spoken 
words,  surcharged  with  painful  meaning,  fell  from  his 
lips,  and  with  one  quick,  frightened  look  she  turned 
away — not,  however,  before  a  little  telltale  quiver,  one 
rapid,  rebellious  heaving,  of  her  bosom,  had  given  him 
the  answer  that  he  sought.  In  a  moment  more  her  met- 
tlesome horse,  having  felt  the  sharp  sting  of  her  tiny 
spur,  springs  away  over  the  heathery  fields,  bearing  a 
mistress  whose  form  is  very  light  and  supple,  but  whose 
heart  is  strangely  heavy,  and  will  be  so  for  many  a  day 
to  come.  When  they  reach  the  Grange  Topsie  notices 
the  cloud  on  Elra's  brow,  and  sees  what  she  thinks  looks 
like  great  tears  standing  in  her  eyes ;  so,  subduing  her 
natural  curiosity  about  their  late  encounter,  she  chatters 
gayly  till  they  reach  the  house,  when  Mrs.  Eldraere, 


122  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEAT. 

pleading  headache  and  indisposition,  retired  to  her  own 
room,  and  was  not  again  visible  till  dinner-time  that 
evening. 

"Oh  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be  F  sighs  the  girl,  as 
she  takes  up  a  favorite  novel  after  her  solitary  lunch 
and  throws  herself  down  for  a  quiet  read,  "  I  would  give 
a  great  deal  to  know  who  and  what  Lion's  master  may 
be,  and  what  he  has  to  do  with  Elra.  I  hate  mysterious 
men  !"  and  she  sighs  again. 


SIR   GREGORY  AT   THE  GRANGE.  123 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SIR    GREGORY    AT    THE    GRANGE. 

That  same  evening,  had  we  chanced  to  turn  in  at  the 
Grange,  we  might  have  seen  that  Sir  Gregory  has  at 
last  effected  his  entry  between  the  tower  gates  of  its 
avenue,  and  has  been  bold  and  fortunate  enough  even 
to  penetrate  to  its  divinely  appointed  little  drawing- 
room.  But  once  there,  to  his  bitter  chagrin  be  it  said, 
he  finds  that  the  object  of  his  intensest  interest  is  gone 
out;  or  more  likely,  Sir  Gregory  thinks,  is  in  her  own 
sweet  little  boudoir,  but  won't  be  worried  out  by  him. 

He  therefore  keeps  a  careful  eye  on  the  door- way,  to 
cut  off  her  chance  of  passing  it  unobserved,  while  he 
settles  himself  to  the  task  of  charming  Miss  Topsie, 
whom  he  has  surprised  over  a  volume  of  Erchmaun- 
Chatrain,  and  who  now  finds  herself  in  for  a  dismal  in- 
terview. "  So  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  says  the 
baronet,  blandly  smiling,  and  advancing  to  shake  hands 
with  his  victim.  "  Such  charming  ladies  and  good  horse- 
women are  an  acquisition  in  a  country  place  like  this.'"1 

"What  do  you  know  about  our  riding,  Sir  Gregory?" 
says  Topsie,  mischievously ;  "  I  am  not  aware  that  you 
have  ever  seen  us,  except  at  a  great  distance."  (Mrs. 
Eldmere  and  Topsie  had  on  more  than  one  occasion  sur- 
prised Sir  Gregory  in  hiding  behind  a  tree  or  fence  to 
watch  them  as  they  rode  past,  and  Topsie  had  often 


12-4  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

joked  her  frieiid  on  the  supposed  passion  of  the  baronet 
for  the  fair  lady  of  the  Grange. 

"There  is  one  thing  in  which  I  should  like  to  claim 
your  help,"  she  continued,  calmly,  "  and  as  you  are  one 
of  the  magnates  of  the  place,  you  can  doubtless  be  of 
great  assistance." 

"Delighted,"!  am  sure,"  smiles  the  gentleman  urbanely, 
"  to  be  of  any  assistance  to  the  lovely  Mrs.  Eld  mere  and 
her  beautiful  friend;"  this  is  said  with  a  low  bow,  hand 
on  heart,  and  with  a  would-be  killing  glance,  that  looks 
more  like  a  leer. 

"  Well,  Sir  Gregory,  I  will  tell  you  we  have  been 
lately  much  annoyed  during  our  rides,  even  walks,  by 
the  movements  of  a  mysterious  man,  who  evidently 
wishes  to  shadow  us;  for  we  have  seen  him  crouching 
down  behind  fences,  and  hiding  behind  trees,  as  we 
have  passed,  and  though  we  have  never  actually  caught 
sight  of  his  face,  we  are  becoming  alarmed  by  his  per- 
sistently following  us;  Mrs.  Eldmere  has  even  grave 
thoughts  of  employing  a  detective  to  watch  the  man, 
and  find  out  if  he  is  only  a  harmless  idiot  or  a  dangerous 
lunatic,  in  which  latter  case  it  would  be  better  to  im- 
prison him  at  once  or  deprive  him  of  his  liberty. 

Sir  Gregory's  face  had  been  a  study  during  this  re- 
cital, turning  from  red  to  crimson,  and  the  desperate 
efforts  he  made  to  appear  a  calm  and  interested  listener 
delighted  Topsie's  wicked  little  heart. 

"  Hum !  You  say  you  have  never  seen  his  face,  my 
dear  young  lady?"  he  asked,  taking  out  his  handker- 
chief and  mopping  his  brow  with  the  same,  while  he 
fidgeted  on  his  chair  and  cast  a  look  of  deep  anxiety  on 
his  tormentor. 


SIR  GREGOR Y  AT  THE  GRANGE.  125 

"  No,  Sir  Gregory,"  says  Topsie,  sweetly,  "  but  I  am 
sine  I  should  know  him  again.  lie  is  tall  and  stout — a 
man  about  your  own  size,  I  should  say." 

"  Ob,  indeed ;  about  my  own  size,"  says  the  baronet, 
growing,  if  possible,  more  crimson  than  before.  "  You 
don't  say  so !  Why,  how  unaccountable,"  Sir  Gregory 
laughs,  or  rather  tries  to ;  while  Topsie  is  delighted  to 
indulge  in  a  little  burst  of  merriment  on  her  own  ac- 
count. 

"Well,  well,  it's  too  bad  !  something  must  be  done;  I 
will  look  into  the  matter  myself,"  says  Sir  Gregory,  pom- 
pously, and  then  the  conversation  languishes,  while  the 
young  lady  disappears  into  the  recesses  of  a  bow-window. 

"  Why,  here  comes  Maudie  de  la  Roche,"  cries  Topsie, 
in  a  tone  of  joy,  eying  the  baronet  with  a  sidelong  glance 
that  means  more  mischief.  "  She  is  coming  up  the 
avenue.  How  fortunate !  She  and  you  get  along  so 
well  together,  Sir  Gregory."  Here  she  sees  his  face 
grow  a  shade  paler  and  his  eyes  darken,  while  cautiously, 
and  with  the  defiant  look  of  one  driven  to  bay,  he  draws 
two  corks  from  his  pockets,  a  la  Mike  Dolan.  These, 
on  Maudie's  entrance,  he  places  in  his  ears,  and  then  re- 
tires comfortably  into  the  recesses  of  his  arm-chair,  feel- 
ing safe. 

Maudie's  garrulous  tongue  is  in  glorious  form,  and, 
conscious  of  the  advantage  of  her  position,  she  rattles 
on  to  Sir  Gregory  about  her  fat  dog,  her  fat  pony,  and 
her  fat  self. 

Stealing  a  glance  round  she  finds  that  Topsie  has  glided 
from  the  room,  and,  seeing  an  encouraging  smile  on  the 
baronet's  face,  she  deems  that  a  little  dash  of  the  senti- 
mental will  not  come  amiss. 


12G  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

"  It's  such  a  long,  long  time  since  I  saw  you  last,  Sir 
Gregory,  she  begins.  I  have  been  quite  ill  lately  with  a 
cold  and  sore  throat  and  haven't  dared  to  go  out!  But 
perhaps  you  did  not  know  of  it  P 

"  Delighted  to  hear  it,"  says  the  baronet  with  a  bow 
and  wave  of  his  hand. 

Maudie  thinks  the  answer  strange,  but  is  not  yet  sub- 
dued. 

"Why  didn't  you  answer  my  letter?"  she  says,  im- 
ploringly, "I  waited  so  patiently  for  an  answer,  just  one 
tiny  word  !"  reproachfully. 

"  Bless  me,  I  give  it  up,"  he  cries  testily,  "  its  no  good 
asking  me  for  the  word,  I  never  could  guess  a  riddle !" 
Then,  seeing  Maudie's  astonished  face,  and  imagining  that 
his  reply  had  not  been  satisfactory,  he  added,  "  Of  course 
not,  I  never  intended  to,  I  thought  I  told  you  that  some 
time  ago.  A  man  in  my  position  cannot  afford  to  take 
part  in  amateur  theatricals,  and,  besides,  I'm  no  actor." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  listening  to  what  I  say,  cries 
Maudie  rather  angrily;  can  you  hear  me  speaking  f 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  quite  agree  with  you;  I  am  sure  you  are 
right." 

"  But  what  are  those  things  in  your  ears  !  how 
can  you  hear  me  with  those  there?  But  perhaps  you 
don't  F 

These  questions  have  broken  from  Maudie  in  quick 
gasps,  and  in  another  moment,  realizing  the  position, 
she  draws  herself  up  grandly,  stretches  out  her  hand  to 
him  in  a  dignified  and  freezing  good-bye,  and  sails  from 
the  room. 

As  soon  as  Maudie  is  well  out  of  sight  Sir  Gregory 
rises  from  his  chair,  and  taking  the  corks  from  his  ears 


SIX   GREGORY  AT   THE   GRANGE.  127 

restores  them  to  his  pocket  with  a  satisfied  air  of  triumph 
— for  once  he  has  got  the  better  of  his  bete  noire,  Miss 
Maudie  de  la  Roche. 

In  another  moment  Topsie  reappears  and  looks  greatly 
surprised  to  find  him  still  there. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  escorted  Miss  de  la  Roche 
home,"  she  says,  "knowing  what  friends  you  are;  it  was 
very  unkind  of  you  not  to  do  so." 

"  I  could  not  leave  before  I  had  seen  you  again,  he  says 
gallantly,  and  you  are  greatly  mistaken  if  you  think  Miss 
Maudie  and  I  are  on  such  friendly  terms." 

"Oh,  come!"  says  Topsie,  archly,  "I  won't  allow  you 
to  say  one  word  against  her,  I  know  you  were  longing  to 
accompany  her  when  she  went,  and  if  you  go  at  once, 
you  will  soon  catch  her  up,  for  she  doesn't  walk  very 
fast !" 

"No,  indeed,  I  could  not  think  of  it.  I  must  stay 
and  see  Mrs.  Eldmere.  I  have  an  important  project — " 

"Oh,  then,  if  you  wish  it,"  retorts  Topsie,  certainly; 
stay  as  long  as  you  like !  you  are  most  welcome ! 
But  I  must  run  away  from  you  for  a  short  time. 
Make  yourself  quite  at  home  in  my  absence,  and 
in  case  you  wish  to  leave,  there  is  the  door  !  in  case  you 
think  of  staying  all  night,  there — is  the  door-mat  for  you 
to  lie  across !" 

But  not  even  this  little  ruse  of  Topsie's  would  have 
gotten  rid  of  the  baronet,  had  not  something  rather  un- 
accustomed happened  just  at  that  moment. 

This  was  the  appearance  of  a  young  man  on  the  car- 
riage sweep,  leading  a  horse,  and  dragging  in  his  hand 
the  tire  of  a  wheel  of  the  dog-cart  to  which  the  horse 
was  harnessed. 


128  HER  PLAYTHINGS,  WEN. 

11  There  must  have  been  an  accident  somewhere,"  says 
Sir  Gregory,  watching  the  new-coiner  with  great  interest. 
A  card  is  next  moment  brought  in  by  the  servant,  and 
Topsie,  catching  sight  of  some  number,  and  il  Fifth 
Avenue,"  in  one  little  corner,  she  waits  no  longer,  but 
dashes  off  in  pursuit  of  Mrs.  Eld  mere,  who  turns  pale  on 
seeing  the  card ;  and  then  a  bright  color  suffuses  her 
face,  with  a  strange  hope  dawning  in  her  eyes. 

"  He  is  a  friend  j  he  will  be  kind,"  she  murmurs,  and 
forthwith  descends  the  stair- way  to  bid  her  guest  wel- 
come. 

In  the  drawing-room  she  finds  a  young  man,  tall  and 
debonair,  talking  gayly  with  Topsie,  whom  he  seems 
to  have  taken  very  kindly  to,  notwithstanding  the  freez- 
ing little  air  that  this  young  lady  seems  to  keep  in  store 
for  strange  young  men. 

An  American  has  a  strange  propensity  for  ices  of  all 
kinds,  and  Eoanwood  Offington  did  not  think  the  ice  in 
question,  flavored  as  it  was  by  rose-leaf  lips,  very  terri- 
fying. Even  au  iceberg  may  melt,  and  Topsie  certainly 
did. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  think  my  presumption  very 
great,"  says  the  gentleman,  as,  hat  in  hand,  he  is 
ushered  into  the  room  ;  "  but  I  hope  that  my  appearance 
here  will  justify  itself.  My  carriage  broke  down  just 
outside  your  gates,  and  being  a  stranger  here,  and  riot 
seeing  any  other  residence  in  view,  I  was  bold  enough  to 
enter,  feeling  sure  that  English  hospitality  would  not 
refuse  to  help  a  stranger  and  a  foreigner  in  distress.  I 
was  told  that  the  house  was  occupied  by  a  Mrs.  Eldmere. 
Have  I  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  that  lady  T'  with  aii 
inqiring  bow. 


SIR  GREGORY  AT   THE   GRANGE.  129 

"No,  sir,"  says  Topsie,  demurely,  "I  ain  only  her 
friend,  but  as  Mrs.  Eldmere  is  herself  au  American,  lam 
sure  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you.  I  sent  her  your  card, 
and  she  will  doubtless  soon  be  here.  In  the  mean  time, 
please  consider  yourself  among  friends,  and  allow  me 
to  give  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  No,  thanks.     Miss  — er  — " 

"  Topsie,"  she  says,  abruptly. 

"  Miss  Topsie,"  he  continued,  with  an  almost  percept- 
ible smile,  "I  never  indulge  in  that  beverage." 

"Oh,  then  you  haven't  been  in  England  long,"  cries 
the  young  lady.  "  It's  quite  English  to  love  tea  and 
scandal — the  two  always  seem  to  go  together ;  but  I  dare 
say  you  are  not  too  fond  of  the  English,  and  Americans, 
being  a  superior  people,  are  above  those  little  weak- 
nesses !" 

"There  you  do  me  great  injustice,  Miss  Topsie,"  replies 
Mr.  Offingtou,  "though  I  have  hardly  been  long  enough 
in  England  to  appreciate  its  hospitality  and  its  many 
beauties— as  I  shall  do  after  to-day,"  he  adds,  with  a 
meaning  glance. 

Upon  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Eldmere  a  sudden  change 
comes  over  the  face  of  Eoanwood  Offington,  and  with  a 
cry  of  mingled  surprise  and  pleasure  he  comes  forward 
with  out-stretched  hands. 

"  Mrs.  Murray  Cresenworth,"  he  says — "  what  an  un- 
expected pleasure  !  They  told  me  a  Mrs.  Eldmere  lived 
here." 

"  And  they  were  right — you  are  now  speaking  to  that 
lady.  There  was  no  mistake.  I  am  Mrs.  Eldmere,"  with 
a  glance  at  the  young  man's  face  that  seems  to  command 
or  entreat  his  silence.  Then  turning  to  Sir  Gregory  with 


330  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

a  gracious  smile  aud  a  few  words  of  welcome  winch  re- 
duce the  inflammable  baronet  to  a  state  of  exquisite  do 
light,  she  explains :  "  Mr.  Offiugton  is  an  old  friend," 
and  upon  her  introducing  the  two  men  the  conversation 
becomes  general. 

"  What  an  unexpected  pleasure  to  see  you  again  ! 
says  the  hostess  to  Mr.  Offiugton  (who  has  not  yet  re- 
covered from  his  surprise,  but  gives  no  sign  of  the  same). 
"  It  must  be  quite  a  lucky  accident  that  has  brought  you 
so  near  us." 

"  A  very  fortunate  one  for  me  "  (with  a  glance  at  Top- 
sie).  "The  Grange  must  be  a  kind  of  loadstone;  and 
who  can  wonder  at  it,  considering  the  many  attractions 
it  contains  P 

li  You  need  not  compare  us  to  stones,  Mr.  Offington," 
says  Topsie  with  a  delicious  pout. 

"  No,  indeed,"  says  the  baronet,  gallantly  coming  to 
the  rescue  ;  for  in  his  present  state  of  beatitude,  which 
he  has  so  little  anticipated,  he  is  ready  to  champion  all 
the  fair  sex.  "  Beauty  is  always  attractive,  and  when 
Mrs.  Eldmere  and  Miss  Topsie  are  the  ladies  in  question, 
every  man  must  fall  and  worship  at  their  shrine.'' 

"  How  poetical  you  are,  Sir  Gregory,"  says  Mrs.  Eld- 
mere,  with  a  smile,  while  Topsie  sends  Mr.  Offington  a 
coquettish  glance,  which  is  fully  appreciated  by  that 
young  man. 

"  In  this  case  Sir  Gregory's  sentiments  are  all  my 
own,"  he  cries ;  "  only,  not  being  poetical,  I  cannot  do 
the  subject  justice." 

"Hear,  hear!"  cries  Topsie,  gayly,  quoting:  "'And 
Beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair.'  Do  you  think  a 
woman's  beauty  is  her  hair  ?" 


SIR   CREGOR Y  AT    THE   GRANGE.  131 

"Very  often." 

"  Theii  you  are  all  beautiful,"  breaks  in  the  baronet. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  says  Topsie,  demurely.  "  I  "have  a 
large  share  of  beauty — but  it  is  iu  rny  trunk ;  it  was 
cut  off  last  June !" 

Here  there  is  a  faint  smile  of  appreciation  on  Roan- 
wood  Oftiugton's  face,  and  Topsie  feels  his  magnetic 
eyes  searching  hers.  Mrs.  Eldmere,  who  has  been  more 
or  less  restless  during  the  conversation,  has  risen  from 
her  chair  and  is  standing  at  the  other  end  of  the  long 
room.  Suddenly  she  turns  and  beckons  Mr.  Offington 
to  her  side, 

u  I  want  to  show  you  these,"  she  says,  pointing  to  a 
group  of  photographs  on  a  table.  "  You  have  been  in 
Home,  I  know,  and  I  was  never  quite  decided  as  to  what 
this  picture  may  be."  Mr.  Offington  joins  her — and 
Topsie,  who  is  watching  them  from  the  corner  of  her 
eye,  while  she  vainly  endeavors  to  converse  with  Sir 
Gregory,  sees  that  the  photograph  was  only  a  subter- 
fuge. Mrs.  Eldmere  and  Mr.  Offingtou.  have  never  even 
pretended  to  look  at  it ;  but,  after  an  earnest  whispered 
conversation  between  the  two,  Mr.  Offington  turns  to 
Sir  Gregory  and  proposes  that  he  shall  drive  him  over, 
as  the  Manor-house  will  be  on  his  way  homeward.  The 
hospitable  baronet  is  highly  delighted  with  this  sugges- 
tion, being  already  in  a  convivial  mood.  He  proposes 
that  they  shall  make  a  night  of  it  together  at  the  Manor- 
house.  Nothing  loath,  Mr.  Eoanwood  Offington  accepts 
with  pleasure,  and  with  many  adieus  to  the  ladies  they 
get  into  Sir  Gregory's  cart  and  drive  off. 

"  By  Jove !  I'll  go  to  little  <  Miss  Fattie's,'  after  all,"  says 
the  baronet  as  they  sweep  under  the  tower  gates.  "  I'd 


132  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

go  through  fire  to  see  that  widow  again.  What  do  you 
say,  Offiugton  !  Do  you  think  she  will  have  me  in  the 
end  ?  Some  women,  I  know,  like  a  long  courtship ;  but, 
come  and  judge  of  matters  for  yourself  at  Miss  Maudie's 
afternoon  party  to  morrow." 

"  Can't,  my  dear  fellow,  so  I  will  only  wish  you  every 
success  in  the  matter,"  says  Offington,  with  something 
like  deviltry  in  his  eye,  "  and  I  hope  you  will  let  me 
know  when  the  happy  event  is  to  take  place." 

"  You  seem  to  look  upon  it  as  matter  of  certainty," 
says  Sir  Gregory  with  rather  a  grewsome  face,  and  there 
the  subject  drops. 


MA  UDIE  PLA  YS  HOSTESS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MAUDIE    PLAYS  HOSTESS. 

Maudie  de  la  Roche  is  in  her  element,  and  as  she 
bustles  about  tbo  room  her  mother  sits  watching  her 
with  secret  admiration  and  conscious  pride.  The  "  Nest " 
has  on  its  most  festive  appearance,  all  the  rooms  are 
decorated  with  a  wealth  of  flowers,  and  Miss  Maudie's 
fat  little  figure  trots  from  place  to  place  putting  last 
touches,  giving  occasional  directions  to  the  bewildered 
maid,  and  trying  in  vain  to  impress  the  button-boy  or 
small  page  with  the  solemnity  and  importance  of  the 
occasion,  for  Miss  de  la  Eoche  has  a  garden  party  to- 
day whicli  she  hopes  will  be  honored  by  the  beauty  and 
fashion  of  the  neighborhood. 

"  Yoila  raon  enfant ;  repose  toi  inaintenant,"  mur- 
murs Madame  from  her  chair  of  state ;  "  it  is  all  perfect! 
and  you  will  be  so  hot,  so  tired." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is  all  in  readiness  now,"  says  Maudie, 
looking  round  the  pretly  room  with  conscious  pride; 
i(I  only  hope  Anatole  will  announce  the  people  prop- 
erly." (Anatole  being  the  name  at  present  inflicted 
upon  the  luckless  youth  who  is  told  off  to  answer  the 
door.) 

11  How  do  you  like  my  dress,  maman  ?"  she  continues, 
sinking  into  a  low  comfortable  chair  near  her  mother; 
"the  dear  marchioness  advised  it,  and  I  really  think 
it  is  quite  a  success !" 


134  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,    MEN. 

The  gown  in  question  is  composed  of  bright  blue  silk 
much  frilled  and  furbelowed,  while  the  hat  is  a  diminu- 
tive sailor  in  white  straw,  trimmed  with  blue  ribbons, 
and  now  perched  coquettishly  on  Miss  Maudie's  head. 
Her  face  being  broad  and  fat,  and  the  hat  small  and 
narrow,  it  is  not  the  most  becoming  head-gear  she  could 
have  chosen,  but  having  vaguely  heard  that  English 
girls  generally  wear  sailor  hats  all  summer,  she  con- 
cluded that  it  would  be  the  most  appropriate  finish  to 
her  toilette. 

uThe  color  is  lovely,  it  is  like  the  blue  of  heaven," 
her  mother  replies,  not  trusting  her  own  taste  against 
that  of  her  anglicized  daughter;  but  tell  me  who  are 
coining  to-day — did  Mrs.  Eldmere  accept  ? 

"Oh  yes,  of  course,"  says  Maudie  with  a  disdainful 
shrug;"  I  had  to  ask  her,  as  she  lives  so  near,  but  you 
know,  maman,  that  I  have  heard  strange  stories  about 
her.  She  shuts  herself  up  at  the  Grange  with  that  girl, 
and  one  would  think  that  she  thought  herself  too  good 
to  mix  with  us;  but  to-day  she  will  see  the  Marchioness 
of  Ripdale  here,  and  I  hope  to  show  Mrs.  Eldmero  the 
sort  of  people  who  come  to  my  parties,  but  who  would 
never  go  to  see  her.  Some  say  she  is  a  divorcee,  others 
that  she  has  a  husband  living,  and  Eldmere  is  not  her 
right  name.  If  she  wasn't  rich,  and  didn't  live  at  the 
Grange,  I  wouldn't  invite  her,  for  I  don't  admire  those 
women  who  have  a  story  like  Mrs.  Eldmere  " 

Here  Maudie  gives  a  virtuous  sniff,  and  turning  to 
take  a  look  at  herself  in  an  opposite  mirror,  is  horrified 
to  see  Mrs.  Eldmere  advancing  with  a  quiet  well-bred 
air,  and  dressed  in  creamy  white  from  head  to  foot.  Her 
face  betrays  no  sign  that  she  had  overheard  the  previous 


MAUDIE  PLAYS  HOSTESS.  135 

conversation,  and  Maudie,  much  relieved,  goes  forward  to 
meet  her  and  several  other  guests  who  have  at  this 
moment  arrived. 

Mrs.  Eldmere,  however,  had  overheard  Maudie's  last 
remarks,  and  she  feels  a  hot  wave  of  anger  and  shame 
at  the  thought  that  tbis  girl,  whom  she  had  always 
despised  as  shallow  and  weak,  should  be  able  to  use  her 
name  so  lightly.  She  wishes  she  had  never  come,  or 
that  at  least  Topsie  were  here  to  defend  her ;  but  she 
wisely  resolves  to  remain  for  a  time,  congratulating  her- 
self that  she  ordered  her  carriage  at  an  early  hour. 
Now  the  visitors  begin  to  arrive  in  shoals,  and  Maudie 
is  quite  proud  and  pleased  at  the  undoubted  success  of 
her  first  large  garden  party. 

The  house  is  crowded,  and  so  are  the  pretty  lawns  and 
trim  walks,  with  smart,  well-dressed  girls  and  matrons, 
accompanied  by  their  attendant  cavaliers.  Tennis  is  in 
full  swing  and  some  adventurous  spirits  are  engaged  at 
bowls  and  croquet;  all  is  life  and  animation,  for  the 
good  people  of  the  neighborhood  have  few  opportunities 
for  showing  off  their  fine  clothes,  and  the  present  occa- 
sion is  worthy  of  their  best  efforts,  for  has  not  a  rumor 
been  whispered  that  no  less  a  person  than  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Eipdale  would  grace  the  fete  with  her 
beautiful  presence. 

Maudie  de  la  Roche  was  a  little  upstart  nobody,  it  is 
true,  but,  viewed  in  the  reflected  light  of  a  real  live 
marchioness,  she  becomes  a  charming  hostess  whom  they 
are  all  glad  to  patronize. 

Maudie  is  in  a  perfect  flutter  of  delight,  but  her 
anxiety  becomes  evident  when  the  last  guest  has  been 
announced  and  no  marchioness  appears.  She  consults 


33G  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

her  watch  every  few  moments,  and  at  last,  to  her 
delight,  with  a  great  clatter  of  prancing  high-bred  steeds 
and  glittering  trappings,  the  Ravenstowe  carriage  ap- 
pears, and  her  bliss  is  unalloyed.  The  Marchioness  of 
Ripdale  languidly  descends,  and  is  received  by  Maudie 
with  effusive  thanks  for  her  ladyship's  appearance. 

"Yes,  I  thought  it  would  amuse  me  to  come  and  see 
your  garden  party,"  she  remarks,  coolly.  "What  a 
crowd  you  have  here !  Where  did  they  all  come  from  T 
she  continues,  sinking  into  a  comfortable  chair  and  gaz- 
ing with  apparent  curiosity  at  the  scene  on  the  lawn. 
"  There's  a  pretty  gown  rather — Pin  gat  or  La  Ferrierre, 
I  would  swear.  Maudie,  who  is  the  wearer  of  that 
creamy-white  gown?  She's  not  a  country  woman,  I'm 
sure." 

"Oh,  that's  Mrs.  Eldmere,  of  the  Grange,"  says 
Maudie,  and  is  about  to  give  further  details  of  that  lady 
when  the  marchioness,  to  her  surprise,  with  a  start  and 
cry  of  astonishment,  exclaims  : 

"  Why,  that  must  be  Elra  Brookley — it's  so  like  her !" 

"  She's  called  Mrs.  Eldmere,"  says  Maudie,  pursing  up 
her  mouth. 

"Oh  well,  never  mind,"  continues  her  ladyship — "it 
maybe  only  a  resemblance;"  nevertheless,  in  her  o\vn 
mind  she  knows  it  is  Elra,  and  determines  to  find  out 
why  she  is  now  masquerading  under  the  name  of  Eld- 
mere. It  will  be  some  sort  of  amusement,  she  thinks,  to 
unearth  a  little  intrigue,  and  she  resolves  to  begin  on 
this  at  once. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Maudie  de  la  Roche  is  now 
honored  with  the  friendship,  or  rather  patronage,  of  the 
Marchioness  of  Ripdale  for  the  simple  reason  that  the 


MA  UDIE  PLA  YS  HOSTESS.  137 

lady  is  now  vegetating  (as  she  calls  it)  at  Ravenstowe, 
and  having  met  Miss  de  la  Roche  at  a  tennis  gathering? 
and  being  much  amused  at  her  posing  a  Panglaise,  she 
makes  her  acquaintance,  promising  herself  much  enter- 
tainment from  the  girl's  evident  simplicity  and  gulla- 
bility. 

Her  ladyship's  husband  is  now  in  Canada,  and  during 
his  absence  she  has  deemed  it  politic  to  spend  a  few 
weeks  with  his  people  at  Ravenstowe,  though  she  hates 
everything  pertaining  thereto  with  a  deadly  hatred,  and 
is  consumed  with  ennui.  The  life  they  lead  is  intensely 
dull  and  formal,  and  as  her  only  society  is  composed  of 
the  ladies  Pysche  and  Amabel  Allesmere,  two  anti- 
quated spinsters  of  doubtful  age,  Handle's  rill  of  chatter 
proves  a  welcome  and  refreshing  oasis  in  the  dead  level 
of  her  existence  at  Ravenstowe,  and  she  has  even  con- 
descended so  far  as  to  honor  the  garden  party  with  the 
light  of  her  presence. 

Sir  Gregory  Athelhurst  and  his  friend  De  Montford 
were  among  some  of  the  earlier  guests  that  afternoon, 
and,  after  a  few  words  to  his  hostess,  Sir  Gregory  clev- 
erly contrives  to  secure  a  vacant  seat  near  Mrs.  Eldrnere, 
to  which  he  appears  to  be  glued  for  the  next  half  hour, 
happy  in  the  mere  presence  of  his  divinity,  who  receives 
all  his  advances  with  great  coldness,  and  seems  quite  un- 
concerned by  the  baronet's  deep  sighs  and  furtive  glances, 
though  she  is  in  truth  much  annoyed  by  the  same. 

De  Montford  has  been  introduced  to  her,  and,  with  his 
usual  keen  perception  and  fine,  tact,  he  at  once  recog- 
nizes her  as  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  but  does  not  intend  to 
let  her  know  that  he  does  so.  He,  therefore,  makes  him- 
self very  charming  to  the  lady,  who  is  greatly  relieved 


138  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

to  be  rid  of  Sir  Gregory,  and  at  the  same  time  be 
makes  up  bis  miud  to  two  things:  one  is,  tbat  Mrs.  Eld- 
inere  is  tbe  wealthy  American  beiress  wbo  made  a  sensa- 
tion by  ber  beauty  and  ricbes  at  Brussels  some  years 
ago;  the  other,  tbat  be  is  perfectly  willing  to  assist  tbe 
lady  in  spending  ber  money,  being  particularly  bard  up 
at  tbe  time,  and  be  concludes  tbat  he  must  either  marry 
ber,  or,  if  ber  husband  is  still  living,  so  far  compromise 
ber  tbat  he  will  get  a  divorce,  and  De  Montford  will  then 
make  bis  own  terms  with  the  supposed  Mrs.  Eldmere. 

Though  these  thoughts  are  flitting  through  bis  miud 
be  does  not  forget  to  play  tbe  part  of  a  polished  gentle- 
man, and  Mrs.  Eldmere,  far  from  suspecting  his  real 
motives,  is  genuinely  glad  to  meet  him ;  it  is  such  a  treat 
to  find  a  well  informed  traveller  such  as  De  Montford 
appears  to  be;  and  after  Sir  Gregory's  platitudes  bis 
remarks  are  doubly  welcome. 

"  May  I  not  get  you  some  refreshments  ?"  he  asks  her, 
after  a  time — "  an  ice,  or  a  cup  of  tea,  or  some  fruit?" 

"  I  think  you  may  bring  me  a  cup  of  tea,"  says  Mrs. 
Eldmere;  "no  sugar,"  she  adds,  "only  a  little  cream;" 
and  De  Montford  goes  at  once  to  procure  it  for  her. 

Just  at  this  moment  she  becomes  aware  tbat  Maudie 
de  la  Roche  has  entered  the  room  with  a  gentleman,  and 
instinctively  she  feels  that  they  are  watching  ber.  Mrs. 
Eldmere  glances  carelessly  at  tbe  speakers,  but  as  she 
raises  her  eyes,  it  is  to  meet  those  of  Eutland  Borra- 
dale  fixed  intently  on  ber.  One  look  from  those  eyes  of 
love  or  scorn  or  hatred,  she  knows  not  which,  and  be 
has  turned  away  without  even  an  acknowledgment  of 
ber  bow  of  recognition.  Her  heart  is  beating  fast,  and 
she  feels  the  color  ebbing  from  ber  cheeks  ;  would  De 


MA  UDIE  PLA  YS  HOSTESS.  139 

Mont  ford  never  coine  ?  At  least  he  will  shield  her  from 
the  cruel  coldness  of  those  eyes,  which  will  haunt  her 
now  for  many  a  day. 

Being  a  woman,  and  a  finished  actress,  Mrs.  Eldmere 
shows  no  sign  of  what  she  feels,  as  leaning  lazily  back 
in  her  chair  she  plays  with  a  white  feather-fan,  and 
languidly  swings  it  to  and  fro,  while  in  the  silence  of 
the  now  deserted  room  she  plainly  hears  his  voice  and 
Maudie's  replies. 

"Now,  Mr.  Borradale,  you  must  see  my  flowers," 
says  that  young  lady,  as  coquettishly  as  she  is  able. 
"I  am  proud  of  my  orchids.  Won't  you  please  take 
Mrs.  Eldmere  through  the  conservatory?  I  see  she  is 
sitting  there  alone,  poor  thing,  and  it  would  be  a  charity 
to  take  compassion  on  her !  Let  me  introduce  you.  She 
is  a  charming  grass  widow."  This  is  all  said  in  a  hurried 
whisper,  but  the  gentleman's  reply  is  clearly  spoken  : 

"No,  I  thank  you,  Miss  de  la  Eoche,  I  do  not  care  to 
improve  my  acquaintance  with  such  widows,  but  if  you 
will  be  my  partner  I  shall  be  delighted  to  join  our  friends 
in  a  game  of  tennis ;"  and  offering  his  arm  to  the  young 
lady  the  two  pass  out  through  the  open  window  onto 
the  lawn. 

"Here's  another  man  who  doesn't  approve  of  Mrs. 
Eldmere,"  thinks  Maudie,  with  a  little  snigger  of  delight 
at  the  same.  "  I  really  mustn't  ask  her  here  again.  It 
doesn't  do  to  be  too  charitable,  and  men  always  dislike 
any  mystery  about  a  woman.  But,"  she  continues  aloud, 
"  there  is  the  marchioness !  How  would  you  like  to  make 
yourself  agreeable  in  that  quarter,  Mr.  Borradale  ?" 

"  Here  is  your  cup  of  tea,  Mrs.  Eldmere,"  says  De 
Moutford,  who  had  quietly  entered  in  time  to  hear  the 


140  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEN. 

last  few  remarks;  and  noticing  Ler  deadly  pallor  and 
trembling  lips,  be  adds,  so  significantly  that  Elra  felt 
sure  he  must  know  all  her  secret,  "  This  room  is  close 
and  you  are  looking  pale.  Will  you  not  accept  my  escort 
through  the  conservatory  \  The  cool  air  will  revive  you, 
and  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  suffering." 

Mrs.  Eldmere  mutely  thanks  him  with  her  eyes,  and 
placing  the  tips  of  her  gloved  hand  upon  his  arm,  they 
enter  the  little  conservatory  that  opens  from  the  draw- 
ing room,  and,  with  a  few  carefully  chosen  remarks,  De 
Montford  puts  his  companion  at  her  ease  again  as  he 
points  out  the  various  beauties  of  Maudie's  somewhat 
diminutive  collection  of  flowers  and  orchids. 

"  Oh,  how  very  beautiful!"  cries  Mrs.  Eldmere,  really 
pleased.  "  These  lilies  are  fair  as  the  young  girl,  I  sup- 
pose, you  will  choose  for  your  bride." 

"  Who  could  the  fair  one  be  ?"  laughed  De  Montford. 
"  She  may  be  very  fair,  but  not  so  for  my  eyes.  I  do 
not  know  that  any  one  is  lovely  beside  you." 

"  Oh  !"  she  says,  a  little  sceptically,  if  ever  so  little 
startled,  "you  are  learning  to  be  a  polished  courtier, 
Mr.  de  Montford." 

"  Sunshine  perfects  and  draws  forth  the  beauties  of  the 
rose ;  my  sunshine  lies  in  your  eyes,  Mrs. — Cresen worth." 

He  said  it  so  gently,  breathing  the  last  word  with 

such  reluctant  tenderness,  that  she  could  scarcely  feel 

inclined  to  resent  his  speech,  but  a  little  look  of  alarm 

-stole  into  her  eyes  as  she  placed  her  fingers  on  his  coat 

sleeve,  saying : 

"  I  think  I  hear  the  first  carriages  approaching  the 
hall  door.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  mine  ordered  also,  so 
I  must  go  and  say  adieu  to  my  charming  hostess." 


THE  TEMPEST  SWEEPS  APACE.  141 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   TEMPEST  SWEEPS  APACE. 

Do  we  blame  one  who  has  been  starved  for  hungrily 
devouring  some  delicious  food  which  is  at  length  offered 
him?  Can  we  sympathize  with  the  frail  human  nature 
which,  having  hungered  of  the  mind  for  many  months, 
has  the  intoxicating  banquet  of  love  placed  before  it  to 
tempt  it  to  partake  ? 

Such  was  the  allurement  offered  by  the  naughty  little 
god  to  Elra  Cresenworth  on  the  day  when,  thinking  no 
harm,  dreaming  no  harm,  she  wandered  listlessly  among 
the  hedge-rows,  plucking  a  golden  primrose  here  and 
there,  rejecting  it  for  a  cowslip  bell  that  tempted  her  from 
its  nook  under  the  pink  and  white  hawthorns  lining 
her  way,  and  among  whose  shower  of  blossoms  the  soft- 
eyed  wood-pigeon  was  cooing  to  its  mate.  Her  thoughts, 
in  sympathy  with  the  gladsome  nature  around  her,  are 
pleasant  ones,  though  sometimes,  indeed,  they  are  tinged 
with  the  more  sombre  of  colors.  Why  do  her  thoughts 
fly  back  to  that  unpalatable  episode  of  Maudie's  "after- 
noon ?"  She  clinches  her  teeth  at  thought  of  Maudie's 
triumphant  malice — she  spurns  beneath  her  heel  an  in- 
offensive pink-lipped  daisy  when  her  thoughts  revert  to 
Rutland  Borradale's  coldly  calculated  slight — she  remem- 
bers with  pleasure  of  De  Montford  coming  to  her  rescue. 

De  Montford !  where  has  she  seen  or  heard  that  name  ? 
In  Brussels ;  yes,  but  where  else  ?  "  Oh  !"  she  cries,  as  a 


142  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

light  breaks  iu  upon  her — an  unpalatable  one,  evidently, 
as  Ler  eyes  darken  with  something  like  annoyance  as 
she  thinks:  "Was  his  the  name  that  Topsie  read  as 
figuring  in  that  sad  story  ?  How  little  attention  I  pur- 
posely paid  when  Topsie  read  to  me  the  details  of  her 
sad  secret!  but,  now  I  think  of  it,  I  fancy  the  two  names 
are  alike.  Can  he  be  that  villain  ? — and  yet  his  face  does 
not  look  very  wicked.  He  tells  me  he  has  a  brother  who 
is  an  entirely  black  sheep,  but  what  must  I  believe?" 

Thereupon  she  arranges  a  little  plan  by  which  she 
will  herself  find  out  all  about  it;  to  speak  to  Topsie 
on  the  matter  would,  she  thinks,  be  to  torture  her  need- 
lessly, poor  little  woman ! 

"If  it  be  indeed  he,"  she  cries,  clasping  her  hands, 
"no  hatred  or  vengeance  of  mine  will  be  too  bitter  for 
him.  But  I  must  go  to  work  cautiously." 

Here  Lion,  who  has  hitherto  been  following  her,  and 
who  thinks  he  has  not  received  his  due  share  of  attention, 
pushes  his  wet  nose  beneath  her  hand  and  thus  compels 
her  to  stroke  his  glossy  head. 

"Naughty  Lion,  who  has  lost  his  collar  and  cannot 
recover  it  again,  do  you  not  know  that  it  bears  a  message 
from  me  to  my  only  loved  one  ?"  She  continues,  play- 
fully, "Xaughty  hound,  bring  it  to  me  again,  for  when 
he  comes  back  once  more  he  must  read  the  word  and 
solve  the  problem,  as  he  alone  can." 

She  has  come  by  this  time  to  an  ugly  looking  stile, 
and  as  she  stands  reflective  as  to  whether  she  will  cross 
it  or  not  a  strong  hand  is  put  forth  to  help  hers ;  there  is 
a  meeting  of  the  eyes,  a  lingering  hand-pressure,  and 
Borradale  stands  once  more  beside  Elra  with  the  old 
protective  look  and  attitude,  his  arm  on  her  slight  waist 


THE  TEMPEST  SWEEPS  APACE.  143 

while  he  draws  her  to  him.  Very  dangerous  for  Borra- 
dale  at  that  moment  is  that  protecting  position  ho  holds 
above  the  beautiful  woman  who  calls  another  man  than 
he  her  lord  and  husband ;  more  dangerous  still  is  her 
position  to  the  woman  who  knows  in  her  heart  she  has 
never  swerved  in  love's  allegiance  from  the  man  towering 
above  her. 

"  I  entreat  you,  let  me  pass,"  she  says,  pale  to  the 
lips  with  the  emotion  that  is  mastering  her.  "  It  is  un- 
manly, cruel,  your  being  here,"  she  continues,  endeavor- 
ing to  brush  his  arm  aside." 

"  My  meeting  you  here  was  by  no  will  of  my  own,  God 
knows!  Elra,"  he  replies,  bitterly — "but  here  by  an 
adverse  chance,  if  you  will,  I  have  found  you,  and  I  do 
not  relinquish  you  again,  as  I  am  a  man  and  love  jou." 

Something  in  Elra's  brain  there  was  that  seemed  to 
snap,  and  in  her  mind  was  a  wild  confusion  as  of  a  world 
turned  upside  down. 

"What  is  right  and  wrong?  Is  it  the  jus) ice  of 
Nature  to  give  allegiance  where  the  heart  has  given 
love,  or  is  it  more  praiseworthy  to  give  cold  friendship 
where  devotion  has  been  vowed  ?  Heaven  1"  she  cries, 
lifting  her  hand  to  her  brow,  "  My  head  is  on  fire."  But 
to  Borradale  she  says,  coldly,  "Go!" 

"  I  will  go  indeed,  darling,  now,  with  the  assurance 
that  your  love  has  never  been  given  to  any  save  me," 
and  without  other  caress  than  a  tender  pressure  of  the 
golden  embroideries  of  her  waistband  he  is  gone. 

Elra's  emotions  for  some  days  after  the  above  scene 
we  shall  not  attempt  to  describe,  but  Borradale's  are  as 
follows :  Now  that  the  overpowering  influence  of  love 
has  crept  into  his  life  again — for  he  is  more  than  ever 


144  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

passionately  enamoured  of  the  woman  who,  in  the  midst 
of  her  love  has  insulted  and  scorned  him — he  longs  to 
have  her  snowy  arms  placed  of  their  own  accord  once 
more  about  his  neck,  and  her  lips  breathing  the  words 
"  I  love  you,"  till  in  the  very  wretchedness  of  his  loss  he 
swears  it  shall  still  be  so,  however  he  encompass  it !  To 
effect  his  object  he  has  many  times  to  elude  the  vigilance 
of  Sir  Gregory,  whom  he  once  actually  meets  prowling 
around  the  Grange  walls  on — he  supposes — the  same 
errand  as  himself,  and  he  feels  consequently  wrathful 
with  the  meddlesome  baronet  for  sinning  as  he  sins. 

However,  nothing  appears  to  reward  his  efforts  until 
one  morning,  on  which  he  had  carefully  watched  Sir 
Gregory  and  De  Montfbrd  ride  off  for  a  distant  meet  of 
hounds,  when,  strolling  in  the  fields  without  even  the 
excuse  of  a  gun  over  his  shoulder,  he  hears  a  little  ap- 
pealing cry  of  distress.  It  comes  .from  a  lady  at  the 
other  side  of  the  fence,  who,  unaware  of  the  proximity 
of  any  male  thing,  is  doing  brave  battle  with  an  inno- 
cent-looking bumble-bee,  and  ducking  her  head  affright- 
edly  now  and  again  as  though  a  huge  winged  monster 
were  looming  above  her.  This  affords  him  even  a  better 
opportunity  than  he  had  hoped. 

"  The  horrid  bee !"  he  cries,  mimicking  her  tones  of 
distress,  when  coming  upon  her  unawares  he  draws  her 
tenderly  to  him  with  one  arm  while  with  the  other 
he  wards  off  the  monster,  and  he  is  rewarded  for  his 
gallantry  by  seeing  that  her  primly  pursed  lips  have 
broken  into  an  unwilling  smile. 

"  Let  us  sit  here  for  a  while,"  says  Borradale,  gently 
drawing  her  down  beside  him  on  a  bank  of  mosses 
and  kingcups;  "I  wish  to  speak  to  you  seriously." 


THE  TEMPEST  SWEEPS  APACE.  145 

"Beally,"  retoits  she,  looking  a  little  ruffled  and  a 
little  frightened.  "And  you  cannot  speak  seriously 
walking  F 

"  It  is  not  my  wish  to !"  says  the  young  man  illogi- 
cally,  the  while  scanning  her  coolly  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  surely  do  not  think  to  speak  ably  or  calmly  or 
seriously  with  your  arm  where  it  is  at  present.  But  I 
presume  you  are  above  the  follies  of  your  sex."  This 
she  says  in  a  partly  mocking,  wholly  provoking  tone,  and 
it  makes  him  cry,  in  return, 

"Perhaps  so,  but  as  I  do  not  wish  to  speak  coolly  I 
shall  leave  my  arm  where  it  is  and  dare  all  for  so  de- 
licious a  position." 

"Pray  don't  speak  warmly;  I  must  suffocate  if  you 
try,"  says  EIra,  with  a  very  attractive  languor. 

"  EIra,"  he  cries,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  I  would  I 
could  overpower  you  with  the  strength  and  depth  of  my 
great  love !  I  would  I  might  always  have  you  to  protect 
and  cherisb,  EIra;"  eagerly,  "let  me  live — let  me  hope 
that  once  more  I  shall  have  you  by  my  side !" 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  says,  rather  flippantly,  "  you  will 
have  me  much  longer  than  you  care  to  keep  me."  Why 
then  did  she  appear  so  astonished  at  the  passionate 
caress  that  followed  ?  Was  it  mere  coquetry  that  made  her 
turn  her  wondrous  lovely  eyes  to  his  with  a  glance  of  lan- 
guid, haughty  inquiry  and  the  little  scornful  word,  "  Sir?" 

"  EIra,  why  cannot  we  be  to  each  other  as  we  once 
were  ?  I  cannot  help  picturing  you  in  my  mind  as  one 
of  those  dazzling  flies  that  haunt  the  water's  brink,  no 
sooner  touched  than  they  vanish  from  your  grasp.  Shall 
we  not  be  as  we  have  been,  Eira  ?"  But  she  evades 
answering  him. 


140  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEN. 

"Do  not,  for  mercy  sake,  puzzle  ine  with  conundrums 
to-day,  my  brain  is  softening,  the  sifting  of  a  problem 
would  dissolve  it  utterly  5  leave  me,  in  fact,  overpowered 
if  not  seated  here  all  night." 

"Then  I  should  be  happy  staying  with  you,  Elra,"  he 
cries,  pleadingly  ;  "  say  with  your  own  sweet  little  lips, 
1  Butland,  I  love  you  !' " 

Elra  is  silent,  and  in  the  pale  twilight  which  is  creep- 
ing on  he  fails  to  judge  of  the  horror,  the  pain  written  in 
her  eyes. 

"  We  must  separate,  sir,"  she  cries,  coldly  springing 
to  her  feet,  but  he  draws  her  back  to  his  side  again  by 
the  power  of  his  strong  right  arm,  which  is  not  to  be 
deterred  now. 

"  Sweetest,  you  fear  to  stay,  3-011  tremble  for  yourself 
because  you — love — me !  Say  it  is  so  and  I  live  but  to  win 
you  by  my  side  again."  And  as  he  says  it  a  great  wave 
of  hope  and  passion  struggles  in  his  eyes. 

"  Love  you.  I  do  not,"  she  says,  coldly  turning  away, 
and  remembering  as  she  says  it  a  scene  of  not  so  very 
many  months  ago  in  which  it  had  been  from  his  lips  that 
those  same  callous  words  had  fallen.  He  bites  his  lips 
as  he  hears  them.  "And  yet  he  says  it  is  ennobling  in 
a  woman  to  love." 

"  Not  with  the  woman  whose  love  solemnly  plighted 
to  one  man  is  given  to  another." 

."Is  it  thus  in  this  case,  Elra?"  he  says,  softly.  "  But  do 
not  deny  it ;  you  cannot,"  he  cries,  with  a  flash  of  some- 
thing very  like  triumph  in  the  eyes  that  he  turns  to  search 
hers,  and  with  which  he  seems  to  tear  her  secret  from  her  in 
spite  of  herself.  She  trembles  with  virtuous  indignation 
and — and  some  other  kind  of  feeling  that  we  shall  not 


THE  TEMPEST  SWEEPS  APACE.  147 

attempt  to  describe,  but  which  we  fear  was  tbe  more 
potent  of  the  two  in  making  her  feel  very  much  like  au 
aspeii  in  the  summer  breezes.  "  Do  not  deny  it,"  he  re- 
peats. "  You  dare  not!  You  shall  not!  You  cannot!" 
and  losing  all  self-control,  he  takes  her  in  his  arms  with 
a  few  whispered  words  which  make  her  turn  white  as 
the  blossoms  that  heap  the  hawthorn  sprays.  a  Leave 
him  !  Come  to  me  !  It  is  but  justice  that  I  ask.  You 
have  insulted  and  injured  me  through  him.  Let  him  be 
the  sufferer  now."  Recoiling  from  his  caress  Elra  Cres- 
enworth,  with  the  grand  dignity  of  only  an  offended 
goddess,  or  the  daughter  of  an  independent  race,  with 
lip  that  curls  with  noble  scorn,  and  tiny  foot  that  seems 
to  spurn  the  very  ground  he  treads,  she  says",  in  a  voice 
trembling  and  hoarse, 

"How  must  I  teach  you  that  I  loathe  you?  how  I 
contemn  you  as  you  deserve  ?  how  I — " 

u  Enough,"  says  Borradale,  with  a  dangerous  flash  in 
his  eyes.  "  Yours,  madam,  was  the  fault.  To  you  was 
reserved  the  task  of  making  our  deep,  simple,  noble  love 
a  sin — yours  be  the  blame.  To  that  which  in  my  prom- 
ised wife  was  a  cowardly  disloyalty  must  I  return  the 
thanks  that  are  due."  As  she  saw  him  turn  on  his  heel 
in  bitter  scorn  her  white  cheek  was  not  more  deadly 
pale  than  his  passion-marked  features,  and  with  a  groan 
of  scarce  so  much  anger  as  horror  she  sank  back  in  n 
hepless  and  hopeless  attitude  among  the  primroses 
and  kingcups. 

Once  again  Eutland  Borradale  stands  beside  Elra 
Cresenworth,  and  this  time  the  victory  is  his,  for  she 
trembles  as  she  tells  herself  that  her  jealously  guarded 
secret  lies  bare  before  him. 


148  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

u  Lion  has  no  collar  now  as  he  used  to  of  old,"  he  had 
said,  "  and  yet  I  remember  when  he  had  a  costly  one. 
1  With  my  heart  forever '  I  gave  him — "  Here  he  pauses, 
and  as  she  does  not  appear  to  have  heard  what  he  said, 
he  continues :  "  And  our  compact,  Elra,  do  you  remem- 
ber it  f ' 

"  I  believe,"  she  retorts,  indifferently,  "  it  was  that  if 
the  parties  were  separated,  and  he  should  come  back 
after  many  years,  the  word  never,  inscribed  on  the  collar, 
should  tell  him — what  he  did  not  deserve  to  know — that 
her  love  had  never  swerved." 

"And  was  that  word  ever  written  ?"  he  asks,  eagerly 
seizing  her  hands.  But  Elra  has  clinched  her  pearly 
teeth  witlr  the  determination  that  the  man  before  her 
shall  never  wring  her  secret  from  her  lips,  and  it  is 
therefore  with  the  utmost  seeming  indifference  that  she 
replies : 

"Not  to  my  knowledge.  The  bill  for  rendering  the 
word  as  agreed  upon,  in  rubies,  would  have  come  to 
nearly  five  thousand  —  a  sum  that  the  lady  thought 
scarcely  worth  while  throwing  in  the  dust." 

Here  he  listens  no  longer,  but  with  a  little  laugh  of 
triumph  he  catches  her  in  his  strong  arms  and  strains 
her  to  him. 

"  Elra  !  Elra  !  deny  it  no  longer,  you  love  me  still,  for 
here  is  the  proof,"  and  he  unfeelingly  holds  before  her 
horrified  eyes  the  rich  collar  taken  from  Lion's  neck 
scarce  a  fortnight  ago.  Driven  to  bay,  with  a  flame  in 
her  eyes  that  is  to  him  rather  maddening  to  see,  she  is 
for  all  that  more  powerful  than  ever  in  her  very  weak- 
ness, for  she  says : 

"I  have  loved  you,  indeed,  Rutland,  but  for  the  sake 


THE  TEMPEST  SWEEPS  APACE.  149 

of  that  love  give  me  your  pity  and  do  not  drag  me  down. 
God  grant  I  may  never  see  you  more!"  With  this  she 
passes  from  his  arms  without — as  he  tells  himself  re- 
proachfully— his  having  wrung  from  her  dewy  lips  the 
confession :  « I  love  you,  Eutland  P 


150  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

RECONCILIATION. 

It  is  past  eight  o'clock,  aud  Mrs.  Eldmere's  pretty  pro- 
file still  lies  cushioned  among  the  billowy  eider-down ; 
she  is  dreamily  thinking  of  those  sweet,  dangerous  mo- 
ments that  yesterday  has  made  her  live  through;  and 
"  Oh,"  comes  the  thought  to  her,  "  shall  I  yield — shall  I 
give  myself  to  love  and  all  that  is  glorious  and  lovely  in 
human  life,  or  (shuddering)  shall  I  rise  beyond  myself! 
Can  I?"  She  is  gliding  down-hill,  she  feels  herself  very 
weak  to  resist,  and  yet  in  her  great  struggle  she  cries 
aloud : 

"  Oh,  for  a  staying  hand !  Oh,  for  the  protection  of  a 
strong,  true  friend!  Why  is  not  my  husband  here  to 
stand  by  my  side  and  save  me  ?  Elra !  Elra !  it  will  soon 
be  too  late !  Go  back  while  yet  you  can  to  the  shelter 
of  his  roof,  to  the  embrace  of  his  protecting  arm." 

At  this  thought  she  shudders  and  pales,  but  with  a 
little  clinched  fist  and  set  white  teeth  she  mutters,  "  I 
shall—" 

Here  her  thoughts  are  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  her  maid,  who,  coming  gently  to  the  bedside,  says, 
"  Two  letters  for  you,  madam,"  and  hands  her  the  silver 
salver. 

"  That  will  do,  Forbes,"  her  mistress  answers,  hastily 
glancing  at  the  handwritings.  u  I  see  there  is  a  letter 
from  my  lawyer  here  which  will  entail  a  visit  to  Brighton 


RECONCILIA  TION.  151 

to-day.  Order  breakfast  for  8:30,  and  then  come  to  dress 
me." 

"  I  shall  take  the  ten  o'clock  train,"  thought  Mrs. 
Eldmere,  "  and  I  must  go  alone.  It  would  not  do  to 
take  Topsie  with  me.  Howl  hate  the  business!  But 
Mr.  Barton  says  he  must  see  me,  so  I  suppose  there  is 
no  help  for  it,  and  I  don't  want  him  to  be  seen  here.  I 
can't  afford  to  have  the  village  gossips  making  conjec- 
tures on  his  appearance,  though  old  Barton  looks  more 
like  an  out-at  elbows  parson  than  the  clever  lawyer  he 
really  is.  Heigh  ho !  I  wish  the  deed  were  done." 

Two  hours  later  Mrs.  Eldmere  was  seated  in  a  first- 
class  carriage  on  her  way  to  Brighton,  and  on  the  arri- 
val of  the  train  she  drove  at  once  to  her  lawyer's  office. 

u  Mr.  Barton  is  very  busy,  but  if  you  will  wait  a  few 
moments  he  may  be  able  to  see  you,"  says  a  young  clerk, 
with  great  assurance,  pointing  to  a  vacant  chair.  This 
Mrs.  Eldmere  refuses  to  take,  and  giving  the  luckless 
youth  a  withering  glance  of  scorn,  which  causes  him  to 
blush  perceptibly,  she  hands  him  her  card  and  says,  "  I 
wish  to  see  Mr.  Barton  at  once." 

A  moment  more  and  she  is  ushered  into  the  lawyer's 
sanctum,  to  find  Mr.  Barton  blandly  bowing  and  smiling, 
as  is  the  accustomed  method  of  the  spiders  of  the  law 
in  receiving  their  victims  or  fair  clients. 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  madam.  Lovely  day, 
is  it  not?"  says  the  lawyer,  handing  his  visitor  a  chair. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  says  Mrs.  Eldmere,  or  Cresenworth,  as 
we  must  now  call  her,  "  but  I  didn't  come  here  to  talk 
about  the  weather,  Mr.  Barton.  Now  tell  me  frankly 
what  you  want  me  to  do.  You  know  I  trust  you  to  do 
the  best  for  me." 


102  HER  PLA  Y THINGS,  MEN. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  lady,"  says  Mr.  Barton,  playing 
nervously  with  his  spectacles  and  moving  some  papers 
in  front  of  him  as  if  in  search  of  something.  "  Now  I  am 
going  to  suggest  something  to  you — something  that  I 
feel  sure  is  the  best  thing  to  be  done."  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "  Is  there  no  possibility  of  a  reconciliation  be- 
tween yourself  and  your  husband,  madam  ?  That  is 
what  I  mean  j"  and  the  old  lawyer  glanced  keenly  at  her 
face,  as  if  he  would  read  her  very  thoughts. 

"  You  see  the  case  looks  very  badly  for  you,"  he  con- 
tinues ;  "  I  think  there  is  no  hope  of  its  being  ever  under- 
stood in  your  favor,  and  a  black  pall  of  dishonor,  though 
totally  unmerited,  would  darken  and  enshroud  your  life. 

"  My  dear  child,"  says  Mr.  Barton,  "  for  you  are  but  a 
child  to  me,  and  must  forgive  the  extreme  interest  I  take 
in  you,  my  advice  to  you  is,  try  to  be  reconciled  to 
your  husband  and  take  no  further  steps  in  this  affair. 
His  fault  was  but  too  great  a  love  for  you ;  can  you  not 
forgive  him,  and  treat  him  with  somewhat  of  wifely  af- 
fection? He  has  nearly  suffered  death;  he  will  never 
be  the  same  man  again  that  he  was  before  he  made  that 
fatal  mistake  for  love  of  you  f 

Mrs.  Oresenworth  listens  in  haughty  silence,  and  Mr. 
Barton  pauses  for  a  reply. 

She  is  thinking  of  it  all — the  sacrifice  she  will  have  to 
make,  the  loss  of  esteem  from  all  those  who  to  her  are 
estimable,  and  she  sighs.  Even  the  other  day  did  she 
not  quiver  when  listening  tq  the  spiteful  words  of  the  fat 
Maudie,  whom  she  had  always  so  thoroughly  despised, 
and  how  would  it  be  if  such  words  were  always  meted 
out  to  her  by  her  own  sex  ?  Would  she  always  be  held  in 
light  esteem  by  men,  or  be,  in  other  words,  despised  by  all 


RECONCILIA  TION.  153 

her  friends  and  foes  alike  ?  She  shudders,  and  sits  with 
clasped  hands,  while  a  sob  breaks  from  her  quivering  lips. 

The  lawyer  is  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  her  soften- 
ing mood,  and  clinches  his  argument  by  a  persuasive  : 

"  What  shall  I  write  to  your  husband,  madam  ?  Shall 
it  be  reconciliation,  as  he  most  dearly  hopes  it  may,  or 
must  it  be  separation,  which  means  a  broken  heart  for 
him  and  untold  misery  for  you  ?  What  shall  it  be, 
madam  ?" 

Without  trusting  her  voice  to  speak,  Mrs.  Cresenworth 
took  the  pen  and  wrote  but  one  word,  "  Come  !"  and  then, 
placing  her  hand  in  the  big  palm  of  the  kindly  lawyer, 
she  made  as  rapid  an  escape  as  possible  from  this  little 
den  of  legal  horrors. 

The  same  evening  we  find  her  again  at  her  home  at  the 
Grange,  and  after  a  solitary  meal  she  strolls  out  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening  to  wander  in  the  fragrant  rose  gar- 
den, now  filled  with  delicious  perfume  of  June  roses.  As 
she  paces  through  the  green  parterres  a  shade  of  sadness 
is  on  her  brow,  for  she  remembers  the  events  of  the  day, 
and  is  haunted  by  thoughts  of  the  future  and  the  mes- 
snge  she  had  sent,  if  only  of  one  word.  Had  she  done 
right  to  send  it  ?  As  she  paces  up  and  down  restlessly 
she  calls  from  time  to  time,  "  Lion,  Lion,"  but  nothing 
living  appears  to  answer  her  call.  She  has  been  told 
that  since  her  departure  that  morning  her  beautiful  grey- 
hound has  been  missing,  and  her  heart  is  filled  with  mis- 
givings, for  Lion  is  a  link  to  the  past.  The  dog  had 
belonged  to  him  by  whom,  alas,  her  life  had  been  made 
the  wreck  it  was,  and  it  was  the  only  thing  left  to  remind 
her  of  the  past.  She  could  not  bear  to  picture  her  noble 
hound  in  any  one's  keeping  save  her  own. 


1  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,    MEN. 

"  Perhaps  be  knows,  poor  brute,  that  his  master  is 
banished  now  forever,  and  that  a  rival  will  soon  take  his 
place— may  be  here  even  to-night.  He  is  more  loyal 
than  his  mistress,  who  is  willing  to  bend  to  an  unloved 
rule." 

Leaving  the  rose  garden,  she  wanders  down  through 
lawns  and  meadows  towards  the  river,  which,  in  the  soft 
twilight,  lies  shimmering  between  its  leafy  banks.  Here 
she  is  startled  to  see  a  lanky  form  crouched  among  the 
ferns  and  grasses,  which,  springing  up  at  her  approach, 
presents  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  half-tamed  creat- 
ure. Mrs.  Cresenworth  recognizes  in  her  a  village  girl 
she  had  often  seen  in  her  wanderings,  who  went  by  the 
name  of  Daddy  Dolau,  and  had  rather  an  unenviable  rep- 
utation of  being  as  wild  as  a  young  goshawk. 

"  Why,  Daddy,  what  are  you  doing  here  at  this  time 
of  night  ?"  says  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  kindly,  as  the  girl, 
seeing  a  friendly  face,  had  gone  down  again  on  her  knees 
among  the  bracken,  as  if  searching  for  something  lost. 

"I've  lost  my  best  friend,"  she  answered  brusquely. 

"  Indeed  !"  replied  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  smiling.  "  And 
who  may  that  be  f 

" It  isn't  a  l  who,'"  says  the  girl ;  " it's  a  l  what.'" 

"  I  really  don't  understand  you." 

"No;  I  dare  say  not.    I  mean  it  isn't  alive." 

"  Oh,  dead.  Is  it  a  pet  bird  you  have  brought  here  to 
bury  ?" 

"  I  never  had  a  live  pet,"  says  the  girl,  sullenly. 
"  This  'ere's  a  knife." 

"  A  what  ?" 

"  A  knife.  Tim  give  it  me  ;  brought  it  from  the  fair 
at  Shoreham  a  while  back.  I  uses  it  to  cut  most  every- 


RECONCILIA  TION.  153 

'thing  with ;  crack  nuts  ;  cut  off  mice's  tails,  and  pare 
apples.  And  now  Fve  lost  him.  I  have  heard  that  a 
-knife  cuts  love;  so  I  suppose  Tim  won't  bring  me  homo 
that  pink  ribbon  he  promised,  or,  if  he  do,  will  give  it  to 
Sal — bad  luck  to  her !  But  I  want  to  find  my  knife 
again,  just  to  spite  'em.  Tim  allus  liked  me  best." 

"  You  foolish  girl,  to  believe  in  such  nonsense.  Tim 
won't  like  you  any  better  or  worse  if  you  lose  it,  though 
he  may  say  it  was  careless." 

"  Well,  here  it  is,  lady,"  cries  the  girl  triumphantly, 
holding  up  an  old  well-worn  jack-knife.  "  Now,  you 
must  have  brought  me  luck,  for  I've  searched  here  nigh 
on  an  hour.  Good-luck  to  you  ;  and  if  ever  you  wants  a 
friend,  remember  there  are  two  of  them  at  your  service 
— me  and  the  knife !" 

Mrs.  Cresenworth  laughed  at  the  girl's  grotesque  re- 
marks, and  had  almost  forgotten  her  late  sad  thoughts 
in  the  quaint  little  episode  just  recounted;  but  as  she 
walked  back  to  the  house  she  heard  a  rapid  footstep 
behind,  an  arm  was  thrown  around  her,  and,  turning 
quickly,  she  sees  her  husband !  Elra  Cresenworth 
started  backward  with  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  I  did  not  think —    So  soon  !"  she  gasped. 

"  My  wife  !  Are  you  not  going  to  be  my  loving  wife  ?" 
he  says,  with  the  wistful  ring  of  tears  in  his  voice, 

"  Can  we  forget  f  she  asks,  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Everything  can  be  forgotten,  if  you  so  will  it,  Elra. 
Elra,"  he  whispered,  with  his  longing  eyes  searching 
hers,  and  drawing  her  gently  to  him,  "  my  wife  !  forgive 
and  forget !" 

Closer  and  closer  he  drew  her  to  him,  till,  with  an  un- 
mistakable shudder,  Elra  lay  in  his  arms,  with  her  lips 


156  HER  PLA  V  THINGS,   MEN. 

pressed  by  bis.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before  this 
little  scene  was  interrupted.  A  sound  among  the  trees 
aroused  them,  and  close  at  hand  they  heard  the  joyful 
bark  of  a  hound,  and  in  another  moment  Lion  springs 
upon  his  mistress,  while  Elra,  with  a  soft  little  purr  of 
content  and  delight,  caresses  her  recaptured  idol. 

"  Why,  where  do  you  come  from,  Lion  F  she  asks,  in 
happy  surprise,  and,  looking  up,  sees  that  they  are  not 
alone.  A  tall  form  is  standing  there  in  the  shadow, 
and  every  vestige  of  color  fades  from  her  cheek,  while 
into  her  eyes  springs  the  fire  of  desperation;  for,  coldly 
contemptuous,  Rutland  Borradale  is  surveying  her  with 
the  scant  mercy  that  the  tyrant  may  give  to  his  slave,  the 
persecutor  his  victim,  while  from  liis  lips  drop  words 
frigid  as  icicles. 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  saving  your  dog's  life, 
and  now  I  have  the  honor  to  return  him  to,  I  fear,  his  un- 
appreciative  mistrfiss." 

He  accompanied  his  words  with  one  long,  coldly  cruel 
look,  and  ere  she  could  choke  back  a  traitor  lump  that 
would  rise  in  her  throat  to  prevent  her  forming  words 
as  icily  indifferent,  as  bitterly  cutting  as  were  his,  he  had 
lifted  his  hat  with  lingering  politeness  and  turned  from 
her  without  another  word. 

No  word  was  spoken  by  the  lately  returned  husband 
of  the  appearance  of  Rutland  Borradale  on  the  scene  at 
such  an  untoward  hour,  but  it  had  proved  for  him  none 
the  less  a  deadly  shock,  and  it  could  not  fail  to  revive 
old  and  bitter  scores. 

"Let  us  go  in,"  "said  his  wife,  rousing  herself  a  little 
later  from  a  dreary  state  of  stupefaction — "  the  fog 
from  the  river  has  chilled  me." 


RECONCILIA  TION. 


157 


And  then  it  was  for  the  first  time  that  her  anxious 
husband  noticed  with  alarm  the  strangely  rich  color  that 
burned  in  her  cheek,  while  to  his  touch  her  hand  was 
clammy  and  cold  as  that  of  the  dead. 


158  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  COAT  OF  SILKEN  GRAY. 

Mrs.  Murray  Cresenworth  is  leaning  languidly  back 
among  her  luxurious  sofa  pillows  looking  rather  paler 
than  we  have  ever  seen  her  before,  while  Topsie  bends 
over  her,  gently  smoothing  back  the  masses  of  her  dark 
hair  and  bathing  her  brow  with  some  cooling  fragrant 
essence.  The  girl's  eyes  are  full  of  sympathizing  com- 
passion as  she  says  gently : 

"  You  have  been  ill,  dear?" 

"Yes.  I  have  had,  perhaps,  cause;  but  it  is  passed, 
says  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  with  a  wan  smile,  and  1  am 
saved  from  a  terrible  temptation." 

"I  know,  dear,"  whispers  Topsie  sadly,  "but  you 
would  never  have  fallen,"  and  the  girl  softly  kisses  back 
the  tears  which  are  thickly  gathering  in  Elra's  eyes. 

"  I  believe  you  are  my  good  angel,  Topsie,"  she  says 
in  a  faint  voice,  "  what  should  I  have  done  without  that 
glorious  pure  light,  that  burns  so  steadily  in  your  eyes, 
to  help  me  onward  over  a  stony  pathway  ?" 

Poor  Topsie  has  turned  away  to  cover  the  powerful 
emotion  which  is  mastering  her,  and  she  points  to  the 
carriage  drawn  up  at  the  door,  with  Murray  as" driver, 
waiting  for  Elra  to  take  her  seat  beside  him. 

With  a  sigh  Elra  rises,  throws  a  wrap  of  costly  sable 
about  her,  and  descends  the  stairs  to  join  her  husband, 
while  Topsie,  from  the  window,  watches  them  start  with 


A    CGAT  OF  SILKEN  GRAY.  159 

a  half  unconscious  sigh  of   "poor  Elra!"  lingering  on 
her  lips. 

"Do  you  feel  better  now,  Elra?"  asks  her  husband, 
anxiously,  as  Mrs.  Cresenworth  takes  her  place  beside 
him.  "  You  are  so  pale;  had  you  not  better  put  off  the 
drive  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  answers  impatiently,  "  I  am  quite  well, 
it  was  only  a  slight  faintuess  and  that  has  passed."  And 
Elra  settles  herself  amid  the  carriage  pillows  with  a 
t  red  sigh,  while  her  husband,  quite  reassured,  and 
gladly  welcoming  this  tete-a-tete,  takes  the  reins  from 
the  waiting  groom  and  drives  off. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?"  he  asks  her  ;  you  know  the 
country  better  than  I  do. 

"  Oh,  anywhere  !"  she  answers  listlessly,  these  country 
roads  are  all  alike. 

They  drive  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  then  Mr. 
Creseuworth  begins,  "  I  am  sure  you  are  dull  here,  Elra, 
this  quiet  country  life  is  killing  you ;  let  us  leave  the 
Grange  and  go  abroad  again,  or  up  to  town  at  any  rate. 
Here  you  are  completely  buried  alive — and  I  want  my 
wife  to  enjoy  herself  and  have  every  pleasure  that  can 
be  found.  Will  you  not  let  me  drive  you  to  the  meet  of 
drags  and  four-in-hands  to  morrow  ?  it  will  be  a  pretty 
sight  and  one  you  ought  to  witness,  for  I  hear  that  all 
the  county  folks  from  far  and  near  will  certainly  be 
present" 

"  And  that  is  a  very  good  reason  why  I  cannot  go,"  she 
says  rather  gladly.  "I  have  nothing  but  such  a  weird 
collection  of  dowdy  old-fashioned  wraps — many  of  which 
should  certainly  be  pointed  out  as  fit  for  Thad}-  O'Flynu's 
collection  of  antiquities  in  the  village  museum." 


160  HER  PLAYTHINGS.   MEN. 

"I  suppose  you  might  make,  up  a  second  edition  of 
the  petrified  bundle  of  rags,  especially  in  these,"  says 
Murray,  touching  her  sables,  "  but  dear  I  don't  think  you 
could  possibly  look  to  disadvantage  even  though  the 
gathering  be  ever  so  chic  /" 

"Ah  !  you  do  not  know  anything  of  our  little  feminine 
weaknesses  and  piuings  to  be  considered  the  best  dressed 
lady  of  the  throng.  Most  of  us  would  never  show  our- 
selves if  it  were  not  for  the  pleasure  of  eclipsing  some 
other  star  of  beauty  or  note." 

"  I  believe  you,"  says  Murray,  laughing,  "  and  as  you 
must  have  the  pleasure  to-morrow  of  excelling  in  beauty 
and  dress,  we  must  see  what  Worth  can  do  for  you." 

"But  the  meet-of  drags  is  to  be  to-morrow  morning," 
interjects  Elra ! 

Here  Murray  draws  from  under  the  carriage- seat  a 
carefully  arranged  parcel,  which  is  found  to  contain  a 
lovely  dove-colored  mantle,  trimmed  with  chenille  em- 
broidery and  fringe  of  feathers  and  lined  with  soft  rose- 
colored  satin. 

"  Why,  what  a  beauty  !"  says  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  "  and 
how  good  of  you  to  think  of  it." 

She  is  supremely  touched  by  this  small  incident,  and 
tells  herself  that  she  is  cruel  to  give  so  little  in  return 
for  so  much  love  and  thought  for  her.  She  longs  to  be 
gentle  and  womanly,  to  fling  her  arms  around  her  hus- 
band's neck  with  the  tender,  whispered  words,  "I  am 
yours,  darling!"  But  when  her  dewy  lips  meet  his  a 
vision  rises  up  as  though  to  mock  at  her — a  vision  of  two 
eyes  aflame  with  mingled  passion,  scorn  and  hatred — 
and  after  all  it  is  with  a  little  rebellious  sigh  that  she 
suffers  the  caress  of  her  husband. 


A    COAT  OF  SILKEN  GRAY.  10 L 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  dear,"  he  says  a  moment  later, 
11  that  I  have  asked  Offington  to  come  and  stay  with  us 
for  a  week.  He  is  a  bright,  clever  fellow,  and  I  know 
you  like  him,  so  I  felt  sure  you  would  not  object." 

"No,  indeed ;  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  says  Elra. 
"Mr.  Offiugtou  is  an  old  favorite  of  mine." 

"  He  is  quite  epris  with  your  little  friend  Miss  Top- 
sie,"  says  her  husband.  "  I  wonder  if  there  is  any  like- 
lihood of  its  being  mutual  ?  It  would  be  a  good  match 
for  her.  Don't  you  think  Topsie  would  marry  him  ?" 

"  No,  dear ;  I  do  not  think  she  is  the  girl  to  care  to 
marry  in  a  hurry.  She  has  only  seen  him  once,  and  I 
am  sure  I  shall  never  bear  to  part  with  her." 

"  But  I  want  my  Elra  all  to  myself!" 

A  look  of  wistful  reproach  steals  into  Elra's  eyes  as  she 
answers : 

"  Dearest,  remember  all  she  has  been  to  me  when — 
when  I  was  alone  here." 

"  Then,  Elra,  you  shall  have  her  always  if  you  wish 
it,  if  that  will  make  you  love  me  the  least  little  bit 
more." 

Being  a  New  York  business  man  he  did  not  fail  to 
make  a  bargain,  even  in  an  affair  of  love. 

On  their  return,  an  hour  later,  they  find  Miss  Topsie 
impatiently  awaiting  them,  as  she  stands  shading  her 
eyes  from  the  sun,  and  tapping  the  broad  stone  steps  with 
a  little  foot  clad  in  a  smart  patent-leather  shoe,  while 
now  and  then  she  pusbes  back  a  stray  lock  of  red  gold 
hair  from  her  white  forehead. 

"  At  last !"  she  cries,  helping  Elra  to  alight,  while 
Murray  Cresenworth  tosses  the  reins  to  a  groom,  and 
they  all  three  enter  the  house. 


1G3  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

"Are  you  tired,  dear  !"  says  Topsie,  for  Mrs.  Creseu- 
worth  sinks  into  the  first  comfortable  chair  with  a  little 
yawn. 

"  Yes,  I  am,  dear — wretchedly  tired.  We  drove  too 
far,  I  think.  Fortunately,  I  can  go  and  rest  now  till 
dinner-time." 

"And,  in  the  mean  time,  I  will  go  and  gather  some 
flowers,"  says  Topsie.  "  I  see  the  roses  want  renewing, 
and  1  noticed  some  beauties  out  on  the  front  lawn  just 
now."  So  the  young  lady  runs  to  fetch  a  pretty  willow 
basket  to  hold  the  flowers ;  and,  tying  a  dainty  bit  of 
lace  and  muslin  over  her  bright  hair,  she  starts  out  to 
rob  the  garden  of  its  treasures. 

Her  basket  is  now  nearly  full,  and  she  makes  a  charm- 
ing picture  of  girlish  grace  as  she  flits  from  one  rose- 
bush to  another,  softly  humming  a  merry  tune  the  while. 
So  intent  is  she  on  her  thoughts  that  she  has  not  heard 
a  carriage  drive  up  to  the  door,  and  she  gives  a  little 
cry  and  start  of  surprise  as  she  hears  herself  called  by 
name,  and  sees,  coming  across  the  lawn  to  meet  her, 
Eoanwood  Offington,  accompanied  by  a  young  lady  of 
about  the  mature  age  of  eight  years. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Offingtou,  how  you  startled  me !  I  had  no 
idea  that  any  one  was  near.  Have  you  come  to  see  Elra  ? 
She  is  tired  after  her  drive,  and  resting  now,  but  Mr. 
Cresenworth  is  visible.  Please  come  into  the  house 
after  you  have  properly  introduced  me  to  this  young 
lady.  I  am  longing  to  meet  a  genuine  American  child, 
and  she  looks  sweet." 

"  So  she  is,"  lie  replies  heartily.  "  Here,  Daisy, 
shake  hands  with  this  lady.  She  loves  little  girls." 

"  How  do  you  do  ?    I  am  glad  to  meet  you,"  says  Miss 


A    CO  A  T  OF  SILKEN  GRA  V.  1G3 

Offington,  gravely;  and  Topsie  bends  down  to  kiss  the 
child  with  a  tender,  loving  glance. 

"  What  a  pretty  place  the  Grange  is,  and  what  lovely 
flowers!"  says  Mr.  Offington,  who  has  been  watching 
Topsie's  face  intently  all  this  time. 

"  It's  all  very  well  in  summer,  but  wait  till  November 
or  February,"  she  replies.  "The  country  is  only  bear- 
able for  six  months  in  the  year.  But  please  come  in, 
and  let  me  take  possession  of  that  wee  mite,  as  she  looks 
bored  by  our  old-time  notions  of  conversation.  Come 
along,  Daisy;"  and,  taking  the  child  by  the  hand,  she 
leads  the  vray  into  the  house. 

"  What  a  glorious  pair  of  eyes  !"  thinks  Mr.  Offington, 
as  Topsio  leads  them  across  the  lawn;  "and  where  could 
my  own  have  been  when  I  met  this  girl  the  other  day  ? 
I  thought  her  pretty  lively  and  interesting,  but  I  find 
her  a  woman  with  soul  and  thought  and  depth  shining  in 
her  eyes — lovely  ones,  too  I"  he  ejaculated.  "  She  will 
give  some  person  trouble  near  the  region  of  the  heart 
before  long,  I  expect,  if  she  hasn't  done  so  already. 
Fancy  calling  a  girl  like  that  Topsie  !  Why,  it's  hea- 
thenish !  With  that  lovely  face  and  figure  one  can  pic- 
ture her  as  Adelaide  or  Marguerite !" 

At  this  period  of  his  soliloquy  Topsie  turns  to  him  and 
says : 

"  There  is  Mr.  Creseuworth  now,  so  I  will  go  and  tell 
Elra  you  are  here,  and  carry  Daisy  oft*  with  me,  for  I 
know  she  is  dying  of  ennui  at  present." 

u  Well,  old  fellow,  glad  to  see  you!"  says  Murray  Ores- 
enworth,  as  he  enters  the  room,  and  the  two  men  go  off 
for  a  chat  and  the  inevitable  cigar,  while  Elra  and  Top- 
sie amuse  themselves  with  the  quaint  oddities  of  the 


164  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

extremely  self-possessed  and  entertaining  maiden  of 
eight  summers. 

''All  plain  sailing  now,  Murray,  isn't  it?"  says  bis 
friend,  with  a  keen  glance.  a  I  heard  all  sorts  of  rumors, 
you  know,  but  I  am  ever  so  glad  to  find  that  things  are 
amicably  settled,  and  hope  you  may  have  a  long  life  and 
a  happy  one."  Then,  as  Murray  does  not  answer,  he 
continues  :  "Mrs.  Cresenworth  is  a  lovely  and  charming 
woman,  and  her  friend,  Miss  Topsie  must  be  a  great  ad- 
dition to  the  family  circle,  eh  F 

"  Oh  yes  j  Topsie  is  a  dear  little  girl,"  says  Murray, 
hastily,  and  a  great  friend  of  my  wife's ;  but  you  know, 
Eoan,  or  rather  you  will  know  some  day,  that  there  are 
times  when  three  is  no  company — when  one  would  like  to 
have  one's  wife  to  one's  self;  but  Elra  has  offered  her 
a  home  here,  and,  of  course,  you  will  understand  that 
though  I  like  her  very  much,  I  rather  wish  sometimes 
we  could  be  alone — Elra  and  I." 

"  Well,  Miss  Topsie  may  marry  some  day,"  says  Mr. 
Offington,  rather  wistfully,  "  and  then  your  wishes  will 
be  fulfilled.  I  know  of  one  who  admires  her  greatly — 
too  much  for  his  own  peace  of  mind — but  I  don't  know  if 
she  would  have  him.  You  see,  he  has  only  seen  her 
twice,  and  that's  being  rather  sudden,  isn't  it,  even  for 
a  New  Yorker  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  says  Murray  Cresenworth,  absently.  "  It 
would  never  do  to  speak  to  her  yet ;  and  then,  poor 
child,  maybe  she  is  happier  now  than  she  ever  could  be 
as  the  wife  of  even  the  man  you  allude  to ;  women  are 
such  strange  creatures  it  takes  a  man's  lifetime  to  find 
them  out,  and  then,  perhaps,  the  discovery  of  what  they 
really  are  is  made  too  late." 


A    COAT  OF  SILKEN  GRAY.  165 

"  I  am  not  sure  if  you  are  complimenting  the  man  in 
question  or  the  reverse,"  says  his  friend,  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  but  I  am  conceited  enough  to  think  that  I  could  make 
any  woman  happy — that  I  loved  passionately." 

"  Well,  well,  who  knows  ?"  replies  Murray.  "  We  all 
think  we  can  do  that." 


1G6      .  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

MATHILDE    BECOMES   ANGLICIZED. 

But  let  us  in  the  mean  time  take  a  peep  at  Maudie  de 
la  Koche  in  her  own  little  home,  as  she  tries  to  improve 
the  hours  of  her  stay  in  England. 

Not  many  miles  from  the  Grange,  on  the  Shoreliam 
road,  stands  a  pretty  bijou  cottage,  surrounded  by  tiny 
grounds,  and  with  an  air  of  semi-gentility  lurking  in  its 
green  shutters,  that  are  now  hermetically  sealed  against 
the  pure  breath  of  the  September  breezes,  and  through 
which  the  subdued  murmur  of  voices  can  be  heard. 

They  belong  to  a  French  lady  and  her  daughter,  who 
have  taken  up  their  residence  at  "  The  Nest,"  as  the  cot- 
tage is  poetically  called,  and  very  substantial  nestlings 
are  now  its  occupants.  The  neighborhood  was  mildly 
alarmed  when  it  was  first  made  aware  that  two  French 
ladies— Papists,  as  I  fear  the  country  folks  called  them 
— had  taken  the  Nest  for  a  year.  But  the  new-com- 
ers had  not  proved  themselves  at  all  formidable.  In- 
deed the  daughter,  Maudie  (neeMathilde),  appeared  only 
too  anxious  to  become  an  English  girl  at  the  shortest 
possible  notice,  and  most  praiseworthy  were  the  attempts 
she  made  to  copy  her  more  emancipated  sisters  of  laper- 
fide  Albion.  And  in  the  light  of  her  good  will  to  become 
Anglicized  as  rapidly  as  possible,  the  neighborhood  had 
begun  to  tolerate  Maudie,  and  even  welcomed  her  some- 
times at  their  slow  tea  parties,  seeing  that  she  was  neither 
beautiful  nor  witty,  and  would  never  prove  a  formidable 
rival  in  a  love  affair. 


MATHILDE  BECOMES  ANGLICIZED.  167 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Madame  de  la  Roche  had 
many  reasons  for  wishing  tlie  youngest  and  least  inter- 
esting of  her  daughters  to  be  favorably  received,  and 
her  admitted  taste  in  dress  did  its  best  to  hide  a  stout 
thick-set  figure,  which  was  poor  Maudie's  greatest  bete 
noire. 

"  Why,  mon  enfant?  says  her  mother,  coming  into  the 
small  sitting-room  one  morning,  and  lifting  expressive 
hands  aghast  to  see  her  daughter  calmly  surrounded  by 
letters  of  unmistakable  masculine  caligraphy,  "  who  are 
all  these  gentlemen  writing  to  you  ?" 

"  Ob,  don't  be  alarmed,  mother.  They  are  only  the 
greatest  racquet  players  of  England." 

"  But  where,  darling,  have  you  met  these  gentlemen  ? 
I  see  the  names  of  Mr.  Hartington,  Mr.  Wallace,  and 
others.  Why,  I  don't  even  know  them  by  name." 

"Neither  did  I,"  says  her  daughter,  iinperturbably  ; 
but  that  doesn't  matter,  you  dear,  simple  old  thing.  I 
have  only  asked  them  to  play  in  our  tournament.  It's 
allright.  Many  of  the  English  girls  do  these  kind  of 
things." 

"  Oh,"  says  Madame,  toning  down  again,  as  she  con- 
templates her  clever  daughter,  "  then  I  suppose  it's  all 
right.  These  English  have  strange  manners  and  customs, 
it  seems  to  me.  Well,  how  many  of  the  gentlemen  will 
play  with  you  my  dear  f 

"  That's  the  worst  part  of  it,"  says  clever  Maude,  irri- 
tably. "  These  horrid  men  !  How  very  distressing  it  is  to 
try  to  do  anything  for  them  !  Here  is  Mr.  Hartington 
says  his  doctor  actually  forbids  his  playing,  and  I  read 
his  name  as  playing  somewhere  yesterday,  so  I  don't  be- 
lieve him.  What  shameful  stories  men  can  tell !  But 


1G8  HER  PL  A  Y  THINGS,   MEN. 

now  I  must  go,  mother,  as  I  am  to  join  a  paper  chase 
to-day.  How  do  you  like  the  costume  for  it?"  And 
Maudie  gets  up  and  walks  across  the  room  to  exhibit  a 
marvellous  new  bloomer  costume  which  she  assures  her 
mother  is  the  correct  thing  for  young  ladies  to  wear  dur- 
ing any  athletic  exercise.  The  dress  looks  oddly  enough 
on  Maudie's  plump,  round  little  figure,  which  is  thus 
shown,  unfortunately,  to  great  disadvantage ;  and,  to 
crown  the  costume,  she  has  perched  a  small  cap  on  her 
head,  which  is  as  unbecoming  to  her  round,  good-tem- 
pered face  as  anything  could  possibly  be.  But  Maudie 
is  determined  to  look  like  an  English  girl  or  die  in  the 
attempt;  and  though  she  hates  active  exercise  of  any 
kind,  she  is  now  prepared  for  a  two  or  three  mile  spin 
across  country,  which  will  involve  climbing  gates,  fences 
or  other  impediments  ;  but  go  she  must,  or  she  will  lose 
the  prestige  it  has  taken  her  so  much  hard  trouble  to 
gain. 

Madame  de  la  Eoche,  whom  we  have  seen  before  in 
Brussels,  is  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  she  finds  the  bloomer 
costume  affreuse ;  and  she  is  lost  in  wonder  at  the  un- 
locked for  traits  which  their  sojourn  in  England  has  de- 
veloped in  her  daughter's  character. 

"  What  is  this  paper  chase  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  girls  are  the  hounds,  and  the  one  who  runs 
fastest  is  chosen  for  the  hare,  and  he  or  she  goes  first, 
carrying  a  bug  full  of  scraps  of  paper,  which  are  dropped 
here  and  there  on  the  road,  to  leave  a  track.  Then, 
after  the  hare  has  had  five  minutes'  start,  the  hounds  are 
off,  following  the  scent  or  track  by  means  of  the  scraps 
of  paper.  We  don't  keep  to  the  road,  of  course,  but  go 
across  country,  climb  hedges,  leap  ditehes,  etc.  Indeed, 


MATHILDE  BECOMES  ANGLICIZED.  109 

we  have  to  go  wherever  the  hare  leads  us.  Well,  I  must 
be  off  now  5  so,  good-bye."  and  Maudie  gives  her  perky 
little  cap  a  few  pats  here  and  there  before  the  mirror, 
takes  up  a  pair  of  gauntlets  and  a  riding  whip,  and  thus 
oddly  equipped  goes  out  smiling,  and  satisfied  that  her 
costume  and  appearance  will  be  as  English  if  not  more 
so  than  that  of  the  girls  she  is  likely  to  meet. 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  /"  soliloquizes  Madame  de  la  Roche, 
as  she  watches  her  daughter's  departure,  "  she  is  a  clever 
girl.  Who  is  there  that  knew  her  in  Brussels  would 
meet  her  now  in  that  strange  dress,  and  say,  'This  is 
Mathilde  !'  She  surprises  me,  her  mother ;  and  if  Sir 
Gregory  will  only  be  at  the  hunt,  he  will  find  her  like 
any  English  girl — though  I  think  the  men  here  have  no 
taste  if  they  say  they  like  such  a  dress.  It  is  horrible  to 
me,  mais  enfin,  one  must  do  as  others  do  in  this  country," 
and  poor  Madame  nodded  her  head  sagely,  and  trotted 
out  to  see  her  cook  and  arrange  about  their  dinner  for 
that  evening.  

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  De  Montford 
may  be  seen  walking  up  the  avenue  to  the  Grange, 
where  he  sends  in  his  card,  asking  to  see  Mr.  Offington, 
if  he  is  at  home.  The  servant  goes  to  inquire,  and  re- 
turns with  a  message  to  this  effect:  that  Mr.  Offington 
is  not  at  home,  but  Miss  Roanwood  Offington  will  be 
glad  to  receive  him,  if  he  cares  to  wait  until  his  return, 
which  will  be  shortly. 

Somewhat  surprised  at  this,  as  he  does  not  know  who 
Miss  Roanwood  Offingtou  may  be,  he  decides  to  be  re- 
ceived,  and  is  shown  into  a  pretty  drawing-room  opening 
onto  the  rose  garden,  where  he  awaits  his  hostess.  He 


170  HER  PL  A  Y  THINGS,   MEN. 

is  contemplating  the  lovely  woodland  scene  before  Lim 
with  great  interest,  when  he  hears  the  patter  of  foot- 
steps, and,  turning,  sees  a  small  child's  figure,  not  more 
than  knee  high  to  a  grasshopper  (as  some  people  would 
remark),  graciously  advancing  towards  him. 

"  Miss  Offington  T  he  asks,  dubiously. 

"Yes,  I  am  Miss  Offington.  Won't  you  be  seated, 
please;  and  by  what  name  shall  I  call  you?"  says  the 
young  lady,  quietly,  of  the  six  foot  of  manhood  towering 
above  her. 

"You  would  scarcely  know  iny  name,  madam,"  replies 
six  foot  with  a  sweeping  bow.  "  I  bring  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Offiugton  —  your  uncle,  I  presume?" — introducing  me 
from  the  Earl  of  Darcliffe.  "Here  is  the  letter;  but 
perhaps  you  may  not  be  able  to  read  it?" 

"  German  ;  no,"  was  the  reply,  in  frosty  tones,  as  she 
draws  her  little  figure  up ;  "  but  if  it  should  be  in  Eng- 
1  sh,  Spanish,  or  French,  I  am  quite  able  to  master 
its  contents." 

So  saying,  she  took  the  letter  and  demurely  perused 
it,  while  her  visitor  sat  lost  in  amazement  at  the  self-pos- 
session and  quiet  dignity  of  his  child  hostess.  With  a 
serious  face  she  handed  him  back  the  letter,  saying, 
quaintly,  "  Be  assured  you  are  most  welcome,  sir,  and  of 
course  you  must  stay  to  luncheon ;  they  will  all  be  home 
soon,  and  then  you  can  see  my  uncle."  Mr.  de  Moutford 
bowed  and  accepted,  and  here  the  conversation  lan- 
guished; for,  for  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  think  of  any- 
thing to  say  to  this  mite,  who  seemed  so  unembarrassed 
at  entertaining  a  perfect  stranger  that  he  was  lost  in  ad- 
miration of  her  ready  savoir  faire,  and  only  wished  that 
he  could  feel  as  entirely  at  his  ease  as  she  did. 


MA  FHILDE  BECOMES  ANGLICIZED.  171 

"Do  you  read  poetry?"  his  new  little  friend  asked 
suddenly,  and,  before  he  had  time  to  disclaim  any  such 
sentimental  taste,  she  continued,  "  I  recite !"  and  forth- 
with plunged  spiritedly  into  "  I  had  ten  dollars  in  my 
inside  pocket;"  half  singing,  half  reciting  it,  in  a  very 
extraordinary  and  amusing  way  the  Englishman  thought. 
It  was  a  very  severe  trial  for  one  whose  nationality 
obliged  him,  under  pain  of  being  considered  hopelessly 
ill  bred,  never  to  be  amused,  to  repress  a  strong  inclina- 
tion to  laugh,  but  being  an  Englishman,  a  hero  in  some 
respects,  and  a  stoic  in  all,  he  valiantly  crushed  his 
hilarious  inclinations,  and  rewarded  the  recitation  with 
"  Very  nice  indeed ;  a  charming  piece  of  poetry !"  which 
remark  greatly  offended  Miss  Offiugton,  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  have  her  successes  crowned  with  loud  ap- 
plause and  much  laughter,  and  who  was  secretly  puzzled 
at  this  new  genus  of  humanity  whose  acquaintance  she 
had  just  made. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  be  tired  of  staying  in-doors,"  she 
said,  rising,  "and  would  perhaps  like  to  see  the  horses. 
I  don't  myself  go  into  the  stables,  it  is  more  correct  not " 
(she  was  in  reality  afraid  of  the  horses,  but  she  would 
never  acknowledge  it  to  any  mere  stranger) ;  "  but  I 
can  introduce  you  to  the  coachman  or  stable-boy,  and 
either  will  give  you  all  the  information  you  want."  So 
saying  Miss  Offington  led  the  way  through  the  garden 
and  field  to  the  stables  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
De  Montford  humbly  followed,  not  daring  to  remonstrate. 

On  the  way  there  she  condescended  to  him  somewhat, 
and  showed  him  how  a  man  who  was  not  afraid  could 
stroke  and  scratch  the  pretty  gentle  Alderney's  ear,  and- 
showed  him  how  the  chickens  loved  to  hear  her  voice, 


172  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

knowing  in  their  own  little  minds  that  she  seldom  passed 
without  causing  some  grain  to  drop  from  her  dimpling 
lingers  into  their  midst  5  grain  which,  in  this  instance,  the 
Englishman  remarked,  had  a  noted  propensity  for  laud- 
ing on  the  fat  and  comfortable  backs  of  the  more  vener- 
able hens,  where  it  would  remain,  probably  for  hours, 
safely  out  of  reach. 

On  the  whole,  the  conversation  was  waxing  friendly, 
when  they  were  startled  by  an  unaccountable  commo- 
tion at  the  entrance  to  one  of  the  cattle-sheds,  and  De 
Montford  caught  a  glimpse  of  Maudie  de  la  Roche  dis- 
playing her  charms  in  a  very  startling  costume,  while 
she  was  in  the  act  of  disappearing  from  view  in  a  neigh- 
boring door- way. 

Their  next  sensation,  and  it  was  a  curious  one,  was 
the  apparition  of  Mike  the  'herd,  in  a  very  agitated 
frame  of  mind  and  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Oh,  yer  honor,  sure  it  was  stark  starin'  mad  she 
was  !  and  I  chased  her  all  around,  and  the  queer  thing 
ran  like  crazy.  Then  she  took  and  hid  in  the  cow-house, 
and  sure  then  I  nabbed  her  safe,  for  I  locked  the  door. 
All  the  same  I  felt  curus  to  know  what  them  creetures 
looks  like,  so  I  slides  in  at  the  windy  and  asks  her  what 
she  wishes.  Then  such  pitiful  eyes  as  she  raises  to  me, 
the  poor  thing !  and  she  says :  l  Won't  you  let  me  out 
agin  ?  I  won't  hurt  you,  I'm  only  a  hare,  and  the  hounds 
are  chasing  me.'  And  sure  that  was  the  poor  thing's 
craze,  so  I  left  her  locked  up,  and  was  going  for  the  per- 
lice  when  I  sees  yer  Honor,  and  thought  to  tell  ye  and 
show  ye  the  poor  crittur.  But  here  comes  Mr.  Offington 
and  Elra  Cresenworth — sure  and  they  might  know  best 
what  to  do  wid  her!" 


MATHILDE  BECOMES  ANGLICIZED.  173 

Here  the  man  at  last  drawing  breath,  Miss  Offington 
breaks  in :  "  Why,  here's  uncle  and  dear  old  Elra,'; 
cried  the  child,  joyfully,  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  now  that 
her  responsibility  regarding  Mr.  de  Montford  was  at  an 
end.  "This  is  a  gentleman  who  wanted  to  see  you, 
uncle."  The  two  men  being  duly  introduced,  she  turned 
to  the  cowherd,  who  had  now  recovered  from  his  breath- 
less recital,  and  was  gesticulating  and  pointing  to  a 
shed  in  the  corner  of  the  Held  with  great  energy. 

"Poor  thing!  she  must  be  a  mad  woman,"  said  Elra, 
compassionately,  upon  hearing  the  details  from  the  'herd, 
whose  name  was  Mike;  "let  us  come  and  speak  to  her; 
I  don't  think  she  is  dangerous." 

Accordingly,  the  whole  party  walked  over  to  the  cow- 
house, which  Mike  unlocked  with  great  deliberation,  and 
followed  him  in  to  see  the  strange  creature. 

"  It's  ne'er  a  man  or  a  woman,  but  somewhat  like 
both,"  said  Mike  in  a  stage  whisper,  "for  I  saw  the 
trousers  when  it  went  flying  around  here,  and  it  has  pet- 
ticuts  as  well.  There  it  lies,  miss,"  he  says,  triumph- 
antly, pointing  to  a  wet,  bedraggled-looking  heap  crouch- 
ing on  some  hay  in  a  corner;  "and  now,  ma'am,  hadn't 
I  better  run  and  fetch  the  perlice?" 

"The  police?  Oh  no,  no  !"  cries  the  figure,  springing 
up  and  trying  to  make  for  the  door.  "  I  have  done 
nothing !  Allow  me  to  go  directly,"  she  cries,  with  a 
would-be  haughty  English  stare,  which  has  the  result  of 
making  Elra  feel  rather  a  choking  sensation. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Maudie  ?  Been  out  for  a  run  ?  But 
I  see  you  have." 

For  it  was,  indeed,  Maudie,  who,  having  been  pressed 
hard  by  the  pursuing  hounds,  had  taken  refuge  in  a 


174  HER  PLA  Y  THINGS,   MEN. 

cattle-shed  attached  to  the  Grange  farm,  and  now  stood 
before  them  gasping  for  breath,  and  deploring  her  lost 
dignity. 

"  I  shall  never  play  hare  and  hounds  again,"  sobbed 
Maudie.  "  I  am  tired  of  the  hoidenish  ways  of  English 
girls  !  I  am  tired  of  everything  !  And  oh,  that  dreadful 
de  Montford  will  tell  Sir  Gregory,  and  then — oh  !"  This 
last  thought  brought  a  little  angry  sob  with  it,  as 
Maudie  paused  to  survey  her  own  pitiful  condition. 
Alas,  for  her  hopes  and  aspirations  to  conquer  on  sight 
in  an  English  girl's  bloomer  costume,  for  a  sorrier  figure 
she  could  not  have  presented !  Her  dress,  wet,  torn  and 
knee-deep  in  mud,  her  jaunty  cap  crushed  over  one  ear, 
and  her  face  burned  a  deep  brick  red  by  contact  with  the 
wind,  presented  a  whole  which  was  rather  trying  upon 
Maudie's  dignity  and  good  looks,  and  which  she  rather 
suspected  of  forcing  those  little  rebellious  smiles  to  the 
lips  of  the  horrid  English  audience. 

With  a  little  injured  whine  of  "  The  marchioness  is' 
waiting  for  me  all  this  time,"  Maudie  sneaks  out  of  the 
"foreign"  crowd,  and  is  off  as  quick'ly  as  her  short 
limbs  will  bear  her,  in  some  direction  best  known  to  her- 
self, while  De  Montford  improves  his  chances,  or  hopes 
he  does,  by  lingering  by  Elra  Cresenworth,  opening 
gates,  and  paying  her  those  hundred  attentions  which 
we  poor  women  have  such  a  weakness  for. 


AN  UNHAPPY  HUSBAND.  175 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN  UNHAPPY  HUSBAND. 

Reduced  since  the  return  of  Murray  Cresenworth  to 
her  own  companionship,  and  being  in  rather  a  dreamy 
inood,  Topsie  goes  down  to  the  lake  one  lazy  day  and  es- 
tablishes herself  in  ease  and  comfort  on  the  soft  cushions 
at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  boats — a  favorite  haunt  of 
hers.  She  is  lying  idly,  looking  up  at  the  blue  sky,  when 
a  footstep  is  heard,  and  Roauwood  Offingtoii  appears; 
then,  with  a  scramble  and  a  jerk,  Topsie  sits  up  in  the 
boat,  with  heightened  color  and  an  assurance  that  she 
was  not  asleep  or  anywhere  near  the  land  of  dreams. 

u  May  I  take  the  oars  and  row  you  around  the  lakef 
he  asks;  which  request  being  granted,  he  enters  the 
boat,  and  together  they  float  around  the  island. 

Who  has  not  loved  to  be  alone,  or  nearly  alone,  on  a 
lake  on  a  lazy  summer  afternoon,  gliding  over  the  sheet 
of  unruffled  crystal,  startling  the  coots,  who  go  fluttering 
and  splashing  noisily  to  their  covert  among  the  rushes, 
or  watching  the  black-eyed  swans  diving  their  snowy 
necks  beneath  the  water,  to  reappear  in  another  moment 
glossy  and  smooth  as  if  no  speck  of  moisture  had  touched 
their  downy  plumage  ?  It  is  cool  in  the  shadow  of  the 
chestnuts,  and  along  by  the  overhanging  bank  the  keel  of 
their  boat  cuts  through  the  rippling  water,  making  it 
rush  with  with  a  soft  gurgle  against  the  high-thrown 
sands. 


17G  HER   PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

Topsie  leans  forward  and  gazes  into  the  water  with 
half-closed  eyes,  while  her  companion  watches  her  keenly 
and  notes  every  light  and  shadow  that  passes  over  the 
girl's  expressive,  telltale  face. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?"  he  says  at  last,  and  her 
reply  startles  him. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  laws  made  by  man,  and  how  I 
despise  them,"  she  answered.  "One  day  they  bind  the 
land  with  a  ba^d  of  iron ;  the  next  day  they  are  dis- 
solved or  laughed  to  scorn.  Laws  made  by  Nature  alone 
stand." 

"Well,  my  little  metaphysician,  what  do  you  know  of 
the  making  or  breaking  of  laws?"  he  asked,  curiously. 

"  The  law  means  might,  not  right.  It  is  only  the  weak 
minded  who  consider  that  immorality  consists  in  the 
breaking  of  laws — those  tiresome  people  who  consider 
that  the  appearance  of  evil  is  evil,  and  that  where  there 
is  no  such  appearance  there  justice  is  !" 

"  But  there  is  no  smoke  without  fire,"  was  his  answer, 
while  his  houesfc  eyes  sought  hers  searchiugly. 

"  No,  truly  ;  but  who  can  judge  by  the  smoke  whether 
the  flame  is  pure  or  impure?  Who  dares  to  say  that 
beneath  the  appearance  of  crime  lurks  the  real  crime  ? 
The  wise,  at  least,  will  not  dare  a  judgment,  for  there  are 
so  many  little  tricks  of  Fate,  so  many  possible  little  hap- 
penings in  human  life,  so  many  unfathomable  motives 
in  the  human  heart,  that  what  appeared  the  crime  of 
yesterday  may  show  as  the  height  of  nobility,  purity  and 
greatness  in  the  human  soul  to-day." 

"Poor  little  woman!  What  has  happened  to  make 
you  speak  so  sadly  of  life,  when  you  should  be  so  happy 
and  thoughtless  in  your  youth  and  beauty  ?" 


TOPS1K    LKAXS    FORWARD    .AM)    GAZES    INTO    THE    WATER  WITH    HALF- 
CLOSED  EYES. 

Page  176. 


AN  UNHAPPY  HUSBAND.  177 

"  Alas  !"  she  tlionglit,  "  that  my  life  was  once  such  a 
continuous  flood  of  golden  sunshine,  such  a  never-ending 
bubble  of  spaikling  joy  !  And  now  I  have  cut  myself 
off  from  all  right  to  sympathy.  I  have  been  insane 
enough  to  part  with  a  birthright  that  can  never  be  re- 
gained." Aloud  she  said :  "  Often  those  who  seem  the 
gayest  and  brightest  are  those  who  have  most  to  bear  in 
silence.  There  are  some  secrets  that  must  be  kept  invi- 
olate, and  even  were  I  to  tell  you  all,  you  might  con- 
demn me  as  others  have  done." 

He  bends  swiftly  over  her  and  takes  her  hand  as  he 
says  :  "  You  may  never  enlighten  me  as  to  what  has  left 
this  blight  of  melancholy  upon  your  young  life  j  but  I 
shall  never  believe  aught  of  you  save  that  which  is  pure 
and  true  and  sweet." 

"  You  may  be  promising  too  much,"  cries  Topsie,  with 
a  tremor  in  her  voice,  and  without  waiting  his  answer, 
as  the  boat  has  now  touched  the  shore,  she  springs  past 
Offiugton,  and,  without  touching  his  out-stretched  hand, 
runs  swiftly  through  the  garden  and  is  soon  lost  to 
sight. 

As  days  spread  out  into  weeks,  and  Offiugton  still 
lingers  on  near  her,  hoping  he  knows  not  what,  Top- 
sie feels  a  chain  linking  itself  around  her  heart  which 
she  had  never  known  there  before,  and  she  trembles  at 
the  thought  of  sounding  the  depths  of  her  own  heart, 
which  she  knows  she  must  do  soon. 

But  about  this  time  a  change  comes  over  Elra's  volatile 
husband  which  affects  matters  rather  strongly  in  the 
Grange  household. 

The  effect  upon  the  neighborhood  caused  by  the  sud- 
den changing  of  Mrs.  Eldmere's  name  to  that  of  Creseu- 


178  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

worth,  and  the  startling  appearance  of  that  lady's  hus- 
band, had  been  great  indeed,  and  rather  confusing  to 
rural  minds.  If  Sir  Gregory  Athelhurst  was  greatly 
upset  by  this  sudden  and  unlocked  for  blow,  it  seemed 
to  have  rather  the  contrary  effect  upon  his  friend  De 
Moutford,  who  had  his  own  little  schemes  on  hand,  and 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Murray  Cresenworth  upon  the 
scene  was  not  so  great  a  surprise  to  him  as  it  had  been 
to  poor  Sir  Gregory. 

After  the  first  awkwardness  had  passed,  Mr.  Murray 
Cresenworth  had  been  warmly  welcomed  by  the  sporting 
element  in  the  county,  and  he  soon  found  himself  a 
welcome  guest  among  the  country  squires.  One  of  these ' 
was  a  certain  Captain  Lane,  who,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  appeared  to  greatly  dislike  De  Montford,  and 
one  day,  from  idle  curiosity,  perhaps,  Mr.  Creseuworth 
jokingly  asked  his  new  friend  why  he  was  so  bitter. 

"  Because  I  know  the  man  is  a  villain !"  was  the  quick 
reply— "and  you,  Cresenworth,  should  be  the  one  to 
know  it  before  it  is  too  late." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  says  the  unsus- 
pecting Murray. 

"  I  mean,"  answers  the  captain  with  emphasis,  "  that 
your  wife  is  in  love  with  De  Montford,  and  you  are  so 
blind  that  the  only  man  in  the  country  who  doesn't 
know  of  it  is  the  lady's  husband.  If  you  want  proofs  I 
can  give  them  !  Here  is  a  letter  which  fell  into  my 
hands,  fortunately,  and  which  is  proof  positive  that  De 
Montford  and  your  wife  are  more  than  mere  friends." 

Mr.  Cresenworth  at  first  is  furious  with  the  captain  for 
daring  to  attack  his  wife,  whom  he  loves  and  trusts,  but 
at  the  sight  of  a  letter  in  Elra's  handwriting,  evidently 


AN  UNHAPPY  HUSBAND.  179 

written  to  De  Montford  aud  couched  in  tender  language, 
such  as  it  was  impossible  for  a  woman  to  use  except  to 
her  husband  or  lover,  he  allows  himself  to  be  convinced, 
and  thus  unconsciously  becomes  the  tool  of  the  men  into 
whose  hands  he  is  ready  to  play.  Not  only  is  the  letter 
shown  him,  but  a  receipt  for  a  large  sum  of  money,  its 
acknowledgment  by  De  Montford,  and  love  and  thanks 
to  his  darling  Elra. 

This  last  document  sets  fire  to  the  kindling  mass  of  his 
resentment,  and,  without  a  word  to  his  unsuspecting 
wife,  Murray  Creseuworth  hurries  up  to  London  and 
holds  a  consultation  with  his  lawyer,  preparatory  to 
taking  steps  for  a  divorce. 

In  the  mean  time  the  ladies  at  the  Grange,  all  un- 
suspecting of  the  danger  which  threatens  one  of  them, 
pursue  the  even  tenor  of  their  accustomed  life,  now 
brightened  by  the  presence  (to  Topsie  at  least)  of  Eoan- 
wood  Offington,  who  seems  to  find  his  quarters  at  the 
Grange  so  comfortable  that  he  is  loath  to  tear  himself 
away.  He  has  noticed,  however,  a  certain  restraint  and 
avoidance  of  him  exercised  by  that  young  lady,  and,  man- 
like, the  more  he  is  repulsed,  the  greater  his  ardor  in 
pursuit  of  his  object.  Some  days  have  now  passed,  Mr. 
Cresenworth  is  still  absent  from  home,  and  Eoanwood 
Offington  is  stopping  at  the  Inn  Bramber,  as  he  is  fully 
determined  to  have  a  satisfactory  interview  with  Topsie 
previous  to  his  departure  from  those  country  parts. 
With  this  end  in  view  he  enters  the  library  one  morning 
nt  a  time  when  he  knows  Miss  Topsie  is  usually  to  be 
found  there,  and  taking  a  book,  and  a  seat  in  a  distant 
corner  of  the  room,  calmly  waits  for  her  appearance. 

It  was  true  that  Topsie  had  purposely  avoided  him,  for 


180  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

she  could  not  fail  to  notice  his  growing  admiration,  which 
had  soon  deepened  into  love;  and  she  dreaded  an  ex- 
planation which  she  felt  would  have  to  come  sooner  or 
later,  if  once  she  allowed  herself  to  listen  to  his  words. 

Mr.  Offington  is  beginning  to  grow  weary  of  his  en- 
forced retirement  from  the  cheerful  fireside,  for  the  days 
were  now  cold  enough  to  warrant  the  luxury  of  a  bright 
wood  fire  on  the  hearth,  when  he  hears  at  last  the  sound 
of  voices  in  the  hall,  and  presently  Topsie  enters  the 
room  alone,  and  running  to  the  fireplace  with  a  little 
shiver,  throws  herself  down  on  the  rug  before  the  cheer- 
ful blaze. 

Here  the  gentleman  with  the  dexterity  of  an  old  hunts- 
man quietly  stalks  his  prey,  who,  unconscious  of  his  pres- 
ence, is  gazing  into  the  bright  flames  with  a  sad  and 
troubled  look  on  her  young  face. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  he  says  gently,  at  last, 
and  the  girl  gives  a  great  start  while  the  color  rushes  to 
her  cheeks  as  she  looks  around  in  evident  confusion. 

She  sees  it  is  Mr.  Offington  and  knows  that  her  hour 
has  come,  for  there  is  a  look  of  determination  on  that 
young  man's  face  which  tells  her  instinctively  that  she 
must  give  her  answer  now. 

I  am  glad  to  find  this  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you 
alone  (with  emphasis  upon  the  word)  before  I  go.  You 
have  so  evidently  avoided  me,  and  been  so  constrained 
in  my  presence  lately,  that  lam  almost  fearful  of  speak- 
ing to  you  now,  but  I  cannot  leave  the  Grange,  dearest, 
without  a  word  from  you.  Can  you  not  say  that  word,  and 
bid  me  hope  that  I  may  one  day  claim  you  as  my  wife? 
Topsie  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  now  stood  facing  him  with 
downcast  eyes,  and  lips  that  trembled  as  she  whispered, 


AN  UNHAPPY  HUSBAND.  181 

lt  Please  say  no  more;  I  must  not  listen  to  yon — yet." 

"Then  you  do  bid  me  Lope,  my  darling,"  bo  cries, 
eagerly  trying  to  seize  her  band. 

"Yes  !  if  ever  tbe  clouds  are  cleared  away,"  she  mur- 
murs, and  witb  one  look  of  radiant  love  and  bope  she 
tears  berself  from  bis  arms  and  burries  from  tbe  bouse. 

Ou  ber  way  through  tbe  gardens  sbe  bears  Elra's  voice 
calling,  and  bastily  drying  ber  tears,  sbe  turns  to  meet 
Mrs.  Cresen  worth,  wbo  comes  to  her  witb  an  open  letter  in 
ber  hand  and  a  look  of  anxious  bewilderment  on  ber  face. 
"  Just  listen  to  this  new  freak  of  my  husband's,"  sbe  says 
to  tbe  girl ;  "  be  writes  me  s  lying, l  am  I  prepared  to  ad- 
vance any  good  reason  why  be  shall  not  institute  pro- 
ceedings for  a  divorce  against  me  T  I  know  Murray's 
jealous  nature  too  well  by  this  time,  but  I  never  thought 
be  would  dare  to  be  so  insane  as  this.  What  can  he 
mean  ?" 

But  here  Topsie  suddenly  drags  Elrainto  the  shade  of 
some  shrubs  to  avoid  meeting  two  men  who  are  walking 
in  tlreir  direction,  and  they  recognize  De  Montford  in.  an 
earnest  and  amicable  discussion  with  bis  erstwhile  hater, 
Captain  Lane. 

"I  do  not  know  why  I  so  distrust  both  of  these  men," 
says  Elra,  after  they  have  passed — "I  never  feel  safe 
when  they  are  anywhere  near." 

"Your  instinct  tells  you  right/'  says  Topsie,  pale  as 
tbe  colorless  roses  at  ber  throat.  Heaven  help  you  if 
you  lie  in  their  power,  one  of  them  at  least  will  know  no 
mercy." 

And  Elra  knows  at  last  that  Hugo  de  Montford  it  has 
been  wbo  has  wrecked  her  loved  Topsie's  life.  "  He  is 
a  friend  of  my  husband." 


182 


HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


"Then,"  says  Topsie,  reflectively,  "  I  see  it  all— it  is 
he  who  has  worked  you  wrong  with  your  husband !  I 
feel  it,  I  am  sure  of  it,  for  some  purpose  of  his  own,  and 
Heaven  befriend  you,  Elra  F 


CLAD  IN  ROSE  AND  GRA  K.  183 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

CLAD  IN  ROSE  AND  GRAY. 

It  is  Thursday — a  brisk  winter's  day — and  a  day  of 
surprises  it  proves  to  be  for  more  than  one  family  iu 
the  neighborhood  of  Eavenstowe,  for  what  begins  with 
a  comedy  of  errors  may  end  before  long  in  a  tragedy! 

That  terrible  condition  of  misery  and  discomfort  called 
house-cleaning  is  being  carried  on  at  the  dower-house, 
now  occupied  by  the  dowager  Marchioness  of  Eipdale 
and  two  of  her  elder  daughters;  and  the  ladies  have 
been  driven  from  one  room  to  another,  from  the  dining- 
room  to  the  hall,  where  they  are  now  occupying  the  win- 
dow-seat looking  out  on  to  the  wintry  avenue. 

"  I  wish  ma  could  regulate  things  better,  and  not  have 
everything  miserable  for  the  short  time  that  we  are 
home,"  snapped  Psyche ;  and  though  you  may  think  I 
speak  of  a  little  dog,  I  refer  in  reality  to  a  gaunt  maiden 
lady,  written  of  in  Debrett  as  fifth  daughter  of  Edred, 
Marquis  of  Eipdale,  and  of  his  wife  Lenora. 

"  Pin  sorry  for  you,  my  dear,"  says  the  dowager  lady, 
tartly,  "but  you  are  not  obliged  to  stay,  Amabel,  and  I 
can  manage  to  exist  without  you !  I  suppose  you  think 
we  do  not  feel  the  inconvenience  as  well  as  yourself." 

Lady  Psyche  was  heard  to  mutter  crossly  to  herself 
to  the  effect  that  the  dower-house  was  not  a  cheerful 
place,  that  she  felt  her  usual  attack  of  rheumatism  ap- 
proaching, as  she  walked  away  from  her  mother  and 


184  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

sister  to  reconnoitre  the  premises  and  see  if  her  room 
was  still  in  a  state  of  chaos. 

"  What  a  temper  Psyche  has,"  sighs  the  dowager — 
always  finding  fault;  this  is  not  Eipdale  Castle,  with 
its  retinue  of  servants !  By  the  way,  Amabel,  when  did 
you  last  hear  from  Artrale  ?" 

"  I  showed  you  her  last  letter/'  answers  Amabel,  who 
is  as  fat  and  lazy  as  her  sister  is  gaunt  and  restless  ; 
"she  mentions  Lenore." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  says  Psyche,  joining  in  the  conversa- 
tion, "  and  what  does  she  say  about  her  ?  I  really  think 
Artrale  ought  to  know  better  than  to  even  mention  her 
to  us ;  though  she  was  our  sister,  she  has  disgraced  the 
family,  and  I,  for  one,  never  wish  to  see  her  again." 

The  dowager  sighs;  but  Psyche  continues:  "I  al- 
ways thought  Lenore  was  a  little  mad,  her  mind  always 
leaned  towards  the  startlingly  eccentric.  Don't  you  re- 
member, ma  dear,  when  she  caught  those  two  little  mice 
and  harnessed  them  to  the  toy  steam-engine,  and  allowed 
them  to  run  away  with  it  ?  Such  peculiar  ideas  in  any- 
body else  would  have  beeu  accounted  insanity  !" 

Here  she  is  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  maid-ser- 
vant, who  comes  to  ask  her  mistress  what  is  to  be  done 
with  the  contents  of  a  large  oaken  bureau,  which  is  to  be 
relegated  from  the  lumber  room  to  one  of  the  apartments. 

"  It's  full  of  papers,  my  lady,  bills  and  such  like,  or  law 
papers  maybe,"  says  the  maid. 

Oh,  burn  them,  Hester !  answers  the  dowager  indiffer- 
ently, but  Amabel  suggests  that  they  should  first  be 
looked  at,  and  the  maid  retires,  returning  presently  with 
her  apron  full  of  musty-looking  papers,  which  she  de- 
posits on  the  hall  table  as  requested. 


GLAD  IN  ROSE  AND  GRA  Y.  185 

"Where  did  they  come  from?"  says  Psyche,  gingerly 
touching  the  dusty  documents  with  the  tips  of  her 
fingers. 

"  The  old  bureau  was  bought  two  years  ago,  at  a  sale 
from  the  vicarage ;  these  must  belong  to  Mr.  Grey  most 
likely." 

"  Here  is  a  strange  document,"  says  Amabel  with 
interest,  "  and  it  looks  like  a  marriage  certificate!" 

"  Show  it  to  me,"  says  her  sister,  and  the  two  unfold 
the  paper  and  commence  to  read  it. 

"It  is  a  marriage  certificate,"  cries  Amabel,  excited- 
ly ;  "  here,  let  me  read  the  names.  Why — Leuore  Alles- 
mere  and  Hugo  de  Montford  !  Jt  cannot  be,"  she  gasps, 
"  it  can't  mean  that  Lenore  is  really  married  !" 

"Let  me  have  it!"  says  the  dowager,  imperiously; 
"  this  must  be  some  trick  ;  I  will  never  believe  it.;  after 
these  Long  years  to  find  that  Lenore  was  really  married 
to  that  man!"  But  when  the  document  is  in  her  hand 
she  sees  at  once  that  Amabel's  words  are  true.  There 
stand  the  two  names,  though  the  corner  of  the  register 
has  been  torn  carefully  away,  and  the  name  of  the 
clergyman  is  missing, 

"  Girls,  this  matter  must  be  seen  into  at  once,"  cries 
the  dowager,  in  great  agitation  ;  "  this  document  must 
be  placed  before  that  man,  and  he  must  be  made  to  con- 
fess  whether  this  be  true  or  no.  Poor  lost  Lenore !" 

"  Here  is  the  very  man  we  want,"  says  Amabel,  from 
her  post  by  the  window-seat.  "  Dr.  Warder,  mother,  is 
now  coming  up  the  avenue ;  let  us  tell  him,  and  ask  for 
his  advice." 

The  good  old  family  doctor  is  soon  put  in  possession 
of  the  astonishing  revelation  made  by  the  old  bureau, 


186  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

and  he  is  intrusted  with  the  precious  paper  with  which 
to  confront  De  Montford. 

"No  time  is  to  be  lost,"  he  says,  as  he  hustles  into  his 
long  overcoat.  "  Give  me  authority  to  meet  the  fellow 
with  this  in  my  hands,  and  I  will  soon  know  whether 
the  villain  has  all  this  time  been  deceiving  that  poor 
child  or  no.  For  all  your  sakes,"  he  adds,  "  I  pray  that 
this  piece  of  paper  will  win  back  your  sister;  though,  if 
she  were  really  married  to  that  man,  Heaven  help  her,  to 
be  in  the  hands  of  such  a  scoundrel !" 

He  forthwith  loses  no  time  in  calling  at  De  Montford's 
cottage,  and  finding  that  gentleman  out,  resolves  de- 
terminedly to  repeat  his  call  on  the  morrow. 


"  A  note  for  you  miss,"  says  Anatole,  entering  the 
drawing-room  at  the  Nest  late  that  same  afternoon,  and 
handing  his  young  mistress  a  suspicious  looking  three- 
cornered  letter,  which  Maudie  seizes  on  with  joy,  recog- 
nizing her  dear  marchioness  as  the  writer  thereof.  "  Ob, 
mamma  !"  she  says,  after  hastily  glancing  at  the  contents, 
"  her  ladyship  wants  me  to  meet  her  at  the  ruins  at  four 
o'clock,  and  have  a  good  l  spin  on  the  downs,'  as  she 
calls  it.  I  am  so  delighted  that  she  has  kept  her  promise 
of  returning  to  Eavenstowe  in  the  winter,  and  of  course 
I  will  meet  her.  We  may  be  late,  so  don't  wait  for  me, 
but  have  your  dinner  at  seven  as  usual." 

Then  Miss  de  la  Eoche  hurries  to  her  room,  and  having 
donned  her  bloomer  costume,  according  to  directions, 
she  sallies  forth  to  meet  her  friend  at  the  ruins. 

Maudie  is  first  at  the  rendezvous  and  has  to  wait  some 
minutes  before  her  ladyship  appears,  but  she  is  used  to 
this,  and  knows  that  she  mustn't  grumble  at  whatever 
it  may  be  her  friend's  caprice  to  inflict  upon  her. 


CLAD  IN  ROSE  AND   GRAY.  187 

"  Hello,  Maudie !"  says  the  new-comer,  "quite  on  time. 
as  our  transatlantic  friends  say.  I  told  you  I  would  be 
here  again,  and  after  three  days  at  Ravenstowe  with  my 
elderly  sisters-in-law,  to  sny  nothing  of  a  gouty,  dyspep- 
tic husband,  I  thought  a  smart  run  across  country  would 
do  me  good,  and  clear  the  cobwebs  from  my  brain  ;  more- 
over, I  want  to  talk  to  you,  and  to  find  out  all  I  can  about 
the  beautiful  Mrs.  Eldmere,  or  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  which- 
ever it  is;  she  interested  me  that  day  when  I  saw  her  at 
your  house,  and  I  believe  you  know  something  about 
her." 

Maudie  was  only  too  willing  to  tell  all,  and  more  than 
she  knew  about  the  fascinating  lady  who  had  robbed  her 
of  Sir  Gregory's  attentions,  and  the  two  set  off  at  a 
smart  trot  through  the  fields,  which  the  marchioness  de- 
clared led,  by  a  short  cut  to  the  downs  wher<*  the  "  spin" 
was  to  be  taken. 

But,  as  often  happens,  the  short  cut  proved  a  long  one ; 
and  having  leaped  small  brooks,  clambered  over  fences 
and  gates,  and  made  themselves  both  hot  and  tired,  they 
at  last  emerge  onto  the  high-road  again,  where  they  sit 
down  to  rest  on  some  stones,  and  to  consult  as  to  what 
is  best  to  be  done. 

"I  believe  we  are  lost,  Maudie!"  says  her  ladyship  in 
great  glee;  she  looks  as  calm  and  cool  as  when  they 
started,  and  is  a  great  contrast  to  her  poor  friend,  who 
is  still  panting  from  her  recent  exertions. 

"  What  fun  that  would  be  !  I  haven't  an  idea  where- 
abouts we  are,  so  let  us  sit  and  wait  here  till  something 
turns  up." 

Presently  the  stillness  is  broken  by  the  sound  of  cart- 
wheels, and  a  gypsy  caravan  conies  slowly  down  the  road. 


188  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

Tied  to  one  of  the  vans  is  a  poor  hungry-looking  dog, 
and  when  the  marchioness  catches  sight  of  his  woe- 
begone face  and  drooping  tail,  a  wicked  little  thought 
flashes  through  her  inind ;  and  going  up  to  one  of  the 
men  she  asks,  abruptly,  "  Will  you  sell  me  that  dog  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lady/'  the  man  replies  with  a  grim  smile  of 
humor;  "he  is  a  fine  watch-dog,  and  a  high  bred  un, 
but,  being  a  lady,  I  will  let  you  have  him  for  a  half 
sovereign  !  He's  worth  a  deal  more,"  he  continues, 
thinking  perhaps  he  has  not  been  greedy  enough. 

"  Well,  here  is  your  money,  my  good  man,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  waut«a  penny  rattle,  one  of  those  wicker 
toy  things." 

"Maudie,  you  shall  go  shares  with  me  in  this,"  she 
whispers;  "I  mean  to  have  no  end  of  fun.  Do  you  think 
that  animal  could  possibly  be  made  to  run,  even  with  a 
rattle  tied  to  his  tail?  if  so,  we  can  both  have  great  di- 
version for  a  ha'penny,  a  penny  being  the  price  of  the 
rattle,  and  I  won't"  charge  you  for  the  dog."  Maudie  is 
well  used  to  her  friend's  vagaries,  and  is  willing  to  sub- 
mit to  all  she  proposes,  though  to  tell  the  truth  she  is 
now  thoroughly  tired,  and  only  wishes  herself  at  home 
again. 

The  dog  and  rattle  being  paid  for,  the  caravan  moves 
slowly  on,  and  the  two  ladies  are  left  in  solitude  again. 
The  marchioness  has  tied  the  animal  to  the  fence  and  is 
now  engaged  in  endeavoring  to  fix  the  rattle  to  one  of 
his  extremities,  which  he  resents  with  a  low  growl,  and 
Maudie,  who  is  terribty  afraid  of  all  strange  dogs,  stands 
watching  in  an  agony  of  fear,  as  she  is  not  sure  if  she 
will  be  asked  to  hold  the  brute  or  not. 
.  "  It's  getting  very  late,  isu't  it  f '  she  remarks,  timidly ; 


CLAD  IN  ROSE  AND   GRA  Y.  189 

"  bad  we  not  better  wait  till  another  day  ?    I  am  sure  we 
must  be  miles  from  home." 

"I  suppose  we  are,  or  at  least  you  are,"  says  her 
friend,  coolly,  "  and  I  mean  to  take  a  drive  in  the  next 
conveyance  that  comes  along.  "  Why,  here  is  the  very 
thing,"  she  continues,  mischievously,  as  a  small  cart, 
commonly  called  a  kreel,  is  seen  approaching.  In  this 
kreel  is  some  clean  straw,  and  lying  on  the  straw  are 
some  half  dozen  little  pigs,  who  blink  and  wink  and 
squeal  at  intervals.  The  marchioness  stops  the  bundle 
of  rags  which  directs  the  footsteps  of  the  .donkey  who 
draws  the  cart,  and  after  a  short  parley  room  is  made 
for  the  two  ladies  in  its  interior,  and  in  spite  of  Maudie's 
protestations  she  is  forced  to  mount  and  take  a  seat  be- 
side the  pigs,  while  the  dog  is  tied  to  the  back  of  the 
cart,  and  is  dragged  an  unwilling  victim  in  their  wake. 

"  What  fun  !"  says  her  ladyship,  looking  round  with 
intense  amusement  depicted  on  her  face,  partly  at  Mau- 
die's disgust,  partly  at  the  novelty  of  their  position. 

"  These  horrid  pigs  !"  says  the  girl,  plaintively, 

"  They  won't  hurt  you,  missie/'  answers  the  old  crone 
"They  is  as  knowing  as  can  be;  look  for  all  the  world, 
the  impudent  little  things,  as  if  they  could  tell  fortunes." 

"  Here  is  a  carriage  coming,"  cried  Maudie,  in  a  tone 
of  despair. 

"  All  right,"  tuck  your  head  down,"  says  her  friend, 
boldly,  and  the  next  moment  a  handsome  phaeton  and 
pair  is  driven  rapidly  past.  No  sooner  is  it  out  of  sight 
than  the  marchioness  gives  vent  to  a  peal  of  silvery 
laughter.  "Did  you  see  them?"  she  asks.  "  My  lord 
and  master,  whom  I  left  at  home  suifering  from  an 
attack  of  gout  and  temper,  driving  with  a  fair  unknown  J 


190  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

This  will  suit  me  finely  !     How  glad  I  am  we  were  hid- 
den here." 

"  Was  it  really  your  husband  ?"  says  Maudie,  in  an 
awe-struck  tone. 

"  None  other  than  the  noble  marquis  himself.  I  told 
him  I  might  be  going  up  to  town  to-day,  so  I  suppose  he 
thought  it  was  a  good  opportunity.  I  declare,  Maudie, 
we  are  having  a  lovely  time  this  afternoon,  and  if  it  were 
not  so  late  we  might  have  the  dog  chase  after  all."  By 
this  time,  however,  the  sun  had  set,  the  shadows  were 
lengthening.,  and  both  ladies  began  to  feel  ready  for  their 
accustomed  meal,  so  it  was  decided  that  the  dog  should 
be  reprieved  till  the  following  day,  and  that  they  should 
leave  the  kreel  at  the  next  farm-house,  where  the  old 
crone  told  them  the  pigs  were  to  be  delivered. 

"It's  quite  nigh  the  Grange,"  she  said,  to  Maudie's 
delight,  as  she  saw  some  prospect  of  reaching  homo 
that  night,  for  the  Grange  and  the  Nest  were  within  a 
mile  of  each  other.  Just  then  the  cart  turns  a  bend  in 
the  road,  and  reveals  the  figures  of  two  people,  a  lady 
and  gentleman,  standing  just  in  front  of  them.  With  a 
gasp  of  horror  Maudie  recognizes  De  Moutford  and  Mrs. 
Cresenworth,  and  buries  her  unfortunate  head  in  the 
straw  as  she  whispers  the  same  to  her  companion.  As 
they  pass  them  in  the  growing  dusk  the  marchioness 
notices  that  Mrs.  Cresenworth  is  clad  in  a  long  gray 
cloak,  richly  embroidered  and  trimmed  with  beads  and 
feathers,  and  as  she  turns,  apparently  to  dismiss  D.e 
Montford  with  a  haughty  gesture,  they  hear  her  say, 
"  I  must  beg  you  not  to  come  any  farther — I  am  going 
into  these  cottages — so  I  will  wish  you  good-bye. ' 

They  watch  her  as  she  walks  smartly  up  the  lane 


CLAD  IN  ROSE  AND   GRA  Y.  191 

towards  the  farm-house,  and,  before  entering,  see  her 
loosen  her  rich  cloak,  which  she  hands  to  a  little  girl 
who  is  standing  near  the  door,  for  she  is  going  in  to  see 
a  sick  woman,  and  knows  by  experience  that  the  interior 
of  the  cottage  is  neither  clean  nor  comfortable,  and  that 
the  windows  have  not  been  opened  all  summer. 

If  Maudie  has  recognized  Mrs.  Cresen worth  it  was  the 
keen  eyes  of  the  Marchioness  of  Ripdale  which  first  saw 
De  Montford,  and  by  the  time  Elra  Cresenworth  enters 
the  cottage  door  she  has  formed  a  plan  which  she  at 
once  proceeds  to  carry  into  execution. 

"  Maudie,"  she  says,  in  an  imperious  way,  "  I  am  going 
to  leave  you,  but  don't  dare  to  move  or  speak — watch 
me,  and  follow  me  at  a  distance  after  I  have  spoken  to 
De  Montford ;"  and  the  next  moment  she  has  sprung 
out  of  the  cart  and  is  walking  towards  the  cottage. 
When  she  reaches  the  door  she  says  quietly  to  the  girl 
who  is  still  waiting  there, 

"  Give  mo  my  cloak,  child  ;"  and,  handing  her  a  shil- 
ling, takes  the  garment  froip  the  astonished  little  maiden, 
and  throwing  it  around  herself,  walks  quickly  down  the 
lane  to  where  De  Moutford  is  still  lingering,  as  if  loath 
to  tear  himself  away.  She  has  found  a  thick  luce  veil  in 
one  of  the  pockets  of  the  cloak,  and,  having  tied  this 
over  her  face,  she  trusts  to  be  able  to  pass  for  Mrs. 
Creseuworth  without  detection.  They  are  both  tall 
women,  and  the  marchioness  is  a  good  actress,  so  she 
has  no  fear  of  successfully  duping  De  Montford,  especi- 
ally as  it  is  now  so  dark  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
distinguish  features. 

.  De  Montford  gives  a  start  of  surprise  when  he  sees  the 
supposed  Mrs.  Cresenworth  returning  so  quickly,  and  he 
comes  forward  at  once. 


HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

"  I  ain  afraid  you  found  your  invalid  out  or  up,"  ho 
says,  significantly,"  and  now  it  is  too  dark  for  you  to 
walk  alone;  may  I  not  offer  you  an  arm  ?" 

To  his  surprise  his  arm  is  at  once  taken,  and,  is  it  his 
fancy,  or  does  Mrs.  Cresemvorth  press  it  gently  as  she 
murmurs  a  reply?  Can  it  be  that  she  relents,  and  after 
such  a  cold  and  stubborn  resistance,  has  at  last  fallen  a 
victim  to  his  seductive  looks  and  words  ? 

"  But  it's  always  the  way,"  thinks  this  conquering  hero 
complacently,  "  these  great  beauties  give  in  to  one  in  the 
end  with  a  much  more  startling  brevity  than  their  less 
sought  sisters !"  and  deeming  he  has  his  grasp  on  the 
beautiful,  coveted,  forbidden  fruit,  he  passes  his  arm 
gently  around  her  waist,  and  draws  her  to  him,  and  is  not 
one  whit  surprised  when  she  secedes  and  comes  to  him 
with  very  little  resistance,  but  with  what  he  deems  an 
hysterical  little  sob.  He  endeavors  to  search  her  eyes, 
but  these  are  strictly  averted,  and  for  fear  lest  so  mag- 
nificent a  prize  should  slip  from  his  grasp,  he  deems  it 
his  best  plan  to  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot. 

"My  darling,"  he  says,  "you  have  consented  at  last! 
You  will  come  with  me,  and  I  shall  protect  your  fair 
name  with  the  last  drop  of  my  heart's  blood  !  My  dog- 
cart is  here  waiting,  and  my  cottage  is  not  far  away ;  let 
me  escort  you  thither,  where  malice  cannot  penetrate  to 
make  your  hours  bitter.  None  will  dare  to  molest  you 
there !  We  shall  be  safe  from  all  intruders.  You  will 
come  then,  dearest  one  F  For  his  only  answer  he  catches 
the  sound  of  a  second  smothered  sob,  and  it  is  with  re- 
newed pleading  in  his  voice  that  he  says:  "How  un- 
happy you  are,  and  yet  how  beautiful !  Come  with  me, 
Elra,  and  allow  my  heart's  worship  to  be  laid  at  your  feet, 


CLAD  IN  ROSE  AND   GRA  Y.  193 

to  make  you  happy  as  the  lark  that  sings  in  a  summer 
sky.  Come !" 

The  lady  seems  reluctant  to  accept  his  proposition, 
but  at  last  suffers  herself  to  be  handed  into  the  dog  cart, 
which  is  drawn  at  once  in  the  direction  of  De  Montford's 
shooting  cottage.  In  the  mean  time  Maudie  is  chafing 
and  fuming  at  this  new  freak  of  her  ladyship,  though 
she  dare  not  disobey  her  tormentor,  and  when  she  sees 
the  dog-cart  drive  rapidly  off,  she  knows  she  has  to  fol- 
low it  as  quickly  as  the  donkey  can  be  urged  along ; 
though  she  is  heartily  tired  of  the  present  comedy,  she 
has  a  still  greater  fear  of  her  ladyship's  displeasure. 
Very  little  conversation  takes  place  between  the  occu- 
pants of  the  dog-cart.  De  Montford  can  scarcely  believe 
that  this  is  really  Elra  Cresen  worth  by  his  side,  but  though 
her  face  is  veiled,  he  recognizes  the  long  gray  cloak  she 
had  been  wearing ;  and  the  marchioness,  scarcely  trust- 
ing herself  to  speak,  except  in  whispers,  holds  her  head 
down  and  pulls  the  lace  veil  still  further  over  her  face. 
On  their  arrival  at  the  co.ttage  a  man  steps  out  of  the 
shadow,  and  coming  to  the  side  of  the  dog-cart,  whispers 
a  few  words  to  De  Montford  which  make  him  bite  his 
lips  and  change  color. 

"  Wait  here,"  he  says  in  a  hurried  whisper  to  the  un- 
known, as  he  hands  Mrs.  Cresenworth  from  the  carriage. 

"  Here  we  are,  dearest.  You  are  quite  safe  now. 
Wait  one  little  moment  while  I  see  my  agent,  and  then  I 
will  be  with  you."  So  saying  he  hands  the  lady  into  the 
house,  and,  locking  the  door  carefully  behind  her,  puts 
the  key  in  his  pocket.  A  brief,  sharp  battle  of  words 
ensues  between  the  two  men  outside,  and  then  De  Mont- 
ford reluctantly  mounts  his  dog-cart,  the  stranger  taking 


194  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEAT. 

the  seat  beside  him,  and  drives  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
Manor-house. 

Maudie  and  the  donkey-cart  have  by  this  time  made 
their  appearance,  for  in  spite  of  the  old  crone's  assurance 
to  the  contrary,  she  has  insisted  on  being  driven  in 
pursuit  of  De  Montford.  When  they  reach  the  cottage 
Maudie  hears  her  friend's  voice  calling  to  her,  and,  look- 
ing up,  sees  that  lady  standing  at  the  window  of  a  room 
above,  and  jumps  down,  much  relieved,  from  off  her  bed 
of  straw. 

u  You  can't  get  in,"  says  the  marchioness,  who  seems 
to  be  enjoying  it  all  hugely.  "  The  door  is  locked,  and 
you  will  have  to  climb  in  at  the  window.  Look  about 
and  see  if  there's  a  ladder  handy  that  will  help  you." 

Maudie  obediently  looks  about,  and  finds  an  old  lad- 
der leaning  against  a  tree  in  the  little  garden.  This  she 
brings  to  the  window,  and,  putting  it  in  position,  pro- 
ceeds cautiously  to  mount  the  steps.  All  goes  well  till 
Maudie  nearly  reaches  the  top ;  then  there  is  a  crash  and 
a  scream,  and  the  frail  support  gives  way  under  her 
ample  weight.  But  she  is  at  the  window-sill,  and  the 
marchioness,  catching  hold  of  her,  drags  her  into  the 
room.  Then,  realizing  their  ludicrous  position,  she  flings 
herself  into  a  chair  and  bursts  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Well,  you're  a  friend  in  need,"  she  says,  as  Maudie 
goes  to  the  window  and  ruefully  gazes  at  the  ruins  of  the 
ladder,  which  are  reposing  in  a  heap  on  the  flower-beds. 

"  Now  that  you  have  removed  our  only  means  of  exit, 
we  shall  have  to  remain  here  all  night,  I  suppose,  for  the 
door  is  locked,  and  I  don't  mean  to  break  my  ankles  by 
a  leap  from  that  window ;  so  we  must  stay  here  and 
make  the  best  of  it" 


THICKENING,   DARKENING,  CLOUDING.          195 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THICKENING,   DARKENING,   CLOUDING. 


r> 


After  De  Montford  has  driven  away  in  the  direction  of 
bis  cottage,  with  Mrs.  Cresenworth  by  his  side,  an  angry 
head  is  thrust  over  the  hedge  along  which  she  has  just 
passed  with  her  companion,  and  a  few  muttered  oaths  are 
heard. 

"I  vow  by  Heaven,"  says  Murray  Cresenworth's  hoarse 
voice,  u  she  will  make  a  fool  of  me  no  more  !  She  will 
have  to  reap  the  reward  of  her  treachery  and  her  sin.  I 
shall  stay  proceedings  no  longer." 

His  loud  tones  have  the  effect  of  scaring  a  few  little 
rabbits  close  by,  and  he  sees  a  very  red  tumbled  head  of 
hair  peep  from  a  warren  lower  down,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  legs  that  belong  to  the  head  are  scampering 
affrightedly  across  the  fields  towards  the  Grange;  but 
poor  Mr.  Cresenworth  is  too  preoccupied  to  care  how 
many  little  bundles  of  rags  he  may  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  bowling  along  in  that  direction. 

"  I  had  come  to  offer  her  a  last  choice  between  honor 
— with  a  sigh — or  dishonor.  She  has  chosen  the  latter; 
and — she  was  my  wife  !" 

This  was  said  as  sadly  as  a  man  might  speak  who  re- 
signs all  right  to  happiness  henceforth,  for  Murray  well 
knew  that  his  wife  had  been  the  very  light  of  his  eye 
and  life  of  his  heart,  and  that  his  existence  without  her 
was  a  void. 


190  HER  PLAYTHINGS,  MEN. 

He  loses  no  time  in  despatching  a  boy  on  horseback  to 
the  nearest  telegraph  station  with  the  following  despatch, 
wiitten  by  him  in  feverish  haste  lest  his  resolution  should 
fail: 

"  Finish  up  proceedings,  and  let  the  journals  be  ap- 
prised as  ordered. 

"(Signed)  MURRAY  CRESENWORTH." 

A  long  night  of  agony  he  spends  in  a  room  of  the  inn 
at  Brain  ber,  and  daybreak  finds  him  up  and  about  again, 
glad  to  put  away  the  horrors  of  a  night  unequalled  in 
suffering  by  anything  he  has  been  through  in  his  pre- 
vious life. 

Had  he,  however,  been  in  the  inood  to  notice  any- 
thing that  night,  he  might  have  seen  two  men  enter  a 
room  in  the  village  inn,  not  so  very  far  from  his  own ; 
and  he  would  have  recognized  DC  Montford  in  the  one, 
while  the  other  we  will  describe  as  the  stranger  who 
had  so  inopportunely  interrupted  De  Montford's  tete- 
a-tete  with  the  fair  lady  of  his  heart. 

There  is  evidently  a  dispute  between  the  men,  as  loud 
angry  words  are  spoken  by  them,  which  have  some  re- 
lation to  a  large  financial  scheme  that  one  of  them  has 
in  hand. 

"  It  would  be  bad,  would  it  not,"  says  the  stranger,  in 
mocking  tones,  "  to  let  them  know  of  that  embezzling 
matter  practised  upon  your  father-in-law — by  whom  we 
shall  not  say  F 

"  Hold  !"  cries  De  Montford  ;  "  who  is  my  father-in- 
law  ?  tell  me  that." 

"  People  would  not  confide  large  sums  to  the  keeping 
of  your  banking  concern,  would  they1?"  continues  the 
stranger,  not  noticing  the  interruption. 


THICKENING,   DARKENING,  CLOUDING.          197 

"An  impudent  blackmailing  scheme,"  rages  De  Mont- 
ford  ;  "  I  know  your  purpose,  you  cowardly  rascal,  but 
you  will  find  that  the  law  can  gag  you  sooner  than  you 
might  desire !" 

"And  the  man  you  shot — " 

But  here  ensues  a  violent  altercation  between  the  two 
men.  At  first  De  Montford  is  proud  and  overbearing 
in  manner  and  speech,  but  by  degrees,  helped  by  the 
stranger's  powerful  arguments,  ho  assumes  a  milder  tone 
and  is  at  last  forced  to  yield,  as  those  who  knew  his 
haughty  nature  did  not  think  it  possible  for  De  Mont- 
ford  ever  to  have  done. 

But  Cresenworth  notices  nothing,  and  next  morning 
disdaining  breakfast,  he  mounts  his  horse,  impatient  to 
call  at  the  post-office  for  any  mail  that  the  morning  may 
bring.  The  post-mistress  hands  liim  a  telegram  from 
his  lawyer,  which  had  evidently  crossed  his  of  the  pre- 
vious evening,  but  which  had  not  been  delivered  earlier 
to  Creseuworth,  owing  to  no  particular  address  being 
given.  It  contained  the  words :  , 

"Divorce  granted  yesterday  at  2.59.  Morning  papers 
will  corroborate. 

"  (Signed)  CLARKSON,  KYFE  &  CLARKSON." 

He  staggered  ever  so  little  when  he  read  the  message 
— it  was  so  strange— so  unexpected— so  soon.  What 
though  he  himself  had  ordered  his  lawyers  to  proceed 
with  the  utmost  despatch  in  the  matter? 

"  It  is  finished  then,  and  a  beautiful  woman,  once  noble 
as  she  was  beautiful,  has  been  trained  at  my«wish  through 
the  slough  of  the  Divorce  Court !  Poor  little  Elra !  your 
sufferings  have  begun." 

Touching  with  his  lips  a  glass  of  some  strong  stimu- 


198  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

lant,  he  mounts  his  horse  in  a  dazed  way,  and  rides 
down  the  frost-hardened  road  towards  the  Grange,  not 
knowing  what  new  developments  Fate  has  in  store  for 
him — just  as  the  hale  and  hearty  man  goes  forth  in  the 
morning  and  sees  not  the  death's-head  that  hovers  round 
and  follows  him  to  his  fate. 

If  we  go  back  but  a  few  hours,  and  follow  the  appari- 
tion that  had  rather  startled  Murray  Cresenworth  by 
popping  at  an  inopportune  moment  from  a  rabbit  bur- 
row and  shooting  off  in  the  direction  of  the  Grange,  we 
shall  find  the  same  strange  apparition  arriving  at  its 
destination  in  haste  that  is  more  hot  and  hurried  than 
graceful. 

Alone  at  the  Grange,  and  feeling  her  nerves  rather 
shattered  from  all  she  has  lately  learned,  Topsie  retires 
to  bed  (though  it  is  still  daylight),  under  orders  from  the 
doctor,  where  a  strong  injection  of  morphine  is  adminis- 
tered. 

"  You  must  be  kept  quite  quiet  for  a  few  days,  my  dear 
young  lady,"  he.says,  "and  then  I  hope  you  will  be  feel- 
ing yourself  again." 

Ere  she  lays  her  head  on  the  pillow,  however,  for  a 
much  needed  sleep,  her  room  is  suddenly  invaded  by 
Daddy  Dolan,  who  has  been  watching  outside  during 
the  doctor's  visit,  and  on  his  departure  makes  her  way 
into  Topsie's  room  and  rushes  to  her  bedside. 

"Oh,  Miss  Topsie,  dear!"  she  half  sobs,  "are  you 
going  to  die?  I  saw  the  doctor  here,  and  thought  maybe 
he  was  murdering  you,  and  I  having  so  much  that  I  must 
tell  you  !"  All  this  is  said  in  a  burst  of  grief  from  Daddy, 
whose  devotion  to  Topsie  is  well  known,  and  who  is  a 
privileged  intruder  at  the  Grange — so  that  the  gill's 


THICKENING,   DARKENING,  CLOUDING.          199 

presence  in  the  house  did  not  cause  much  astonishment 
or  curiosity.  Topsie  had  been  in  the  habit  of  teaching 
her  young  protegee,  and  though  the  result  has  not  yet 
been  great,  she  knows  she  has  won  a  faithful  and  trusty 
friend  in  the  poor  neglected,  simple-minded  country  girl. 

"  What  is  it  Daddy  ?  tell  me  dear,"  she  says,  as  Daddy 
continued  to  sob,  her  head  buried  in  her  apron.  "  What 
has  happened?" 

"I  was  in  the  rabbit  warren,  iniss,  a  while  ago,  sitting 
on  the  bank  a-thinkiug  of  nothing  when  I  see  that  bold 
black  man  a  coming  down  the  lane  "  (this  was  Daddy's 
name  for  De  Montford,  whom  she  cordially  detests  for 
some  reason  or  other).  "  I  crouched  down  for  him  not 
to  see  me,  and  then  I  heard  voices  talking,  and  one  was 
a  lady's.  I  didn't  listen,  miss,  but  I  couldn't  help  hear- 
ing what  they  said;  leastways  lie  spoke  so  loud  and  she 
in  whispers." 

"  What  did  they  say  ?  tell  me,"  cries  Topsie,  sitting  up 
in  bed  with  wide  open  eyes,  "  tell  me,  Daddy,  quickly !" 

"  They  whispered  some  first,  and  then  he  says:  'Well, 
come  with  me  now !  everything  is  ready,  my  carriage  is 
waiting,  and  we  can  soon  beat  my  hunting  cottage,  safe 
from  all  intruders ;  they  will  never  think  to  look  for  you 
there;  come,  my  darling!'  The  lady  seemed  to  be  saying 
i  No '  at  first,  then  he  persuades  her  some  more,  and  they 
go  forward  and  get  into  a  carriage  and  drive  off;  she 
seemed  to  be  frightened  somewhat ;  leastways  she  cries 
out  'No  !  no!  how  can  I  trust  you?'  But  he  whips  up 
the  horses  and  off  they  go ;  then  I  comes  across  to  tell 
you,  miss,  and  on  my  way  I  meets  the  poor  gentleman^ 
Mr.  Cresenworth  ;  he  must  have  been  there  and  heard  it 
too ;  and  she  such  a  pretty  lady !" 


200  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

u  Who  was  it?"  almost  shrieks  Topsie,  seizing  the  girl 
roughly  by  the  arm. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Cresenwortb,  miss  !  I  told  you  there  was 
no  other  lady  as  I  see." 

With  a  wild  cry  Topsie  flies  from  her  bed,  all  thought 
of  sleep  is  dashed  in  a  moment  from  her  mind.  She 
hurries  into  her  riding  habit  in  hysterical  haste,  and 
orders  Irish  King  to  be  instantly  saddled  with  the  child's 
basket  saddle  which  had  been  recently  purchased  for 
little  Miss  Offington.  The  paddle  has  a  high  back, 
rather  like  a  chair,  and  to  this,  as  she  mounts  her  horse, 
she  has  herself  bound  (in  a  moment  of  strange  inspira- 
tion) by  a  leathern  strap.  The  next  instant  she  is  dash- 
ing rather  wildly  down  the  sweep  of  lawn  towards  the 
tower  gates. 

Mrs.  Cresenworth,  returning  a  little  later,  hears  from 
her  maid  that  Topsie  is  out  riding,  and  is  satisfied  with 
the  explanation  of  her  absence,  until  finding  it  grows  very 
late  and  there  is  no  appearance  of  Topsie  she  becomes 
alarmed;  and  is  rendered  doubly  so  on  being  told  of  the 
dose  of  morphia  administered  to  that  young  lady  in  the 
afternoon.  It  is  therefore  in  a  sad  state  of  alarm  lest 
the  young  horsewoman  may  have  been  overtaken  sud- 
denly by  the  effects  of  the  narcotic,  that  Mrs.  Cresen- 
worth orders  a  search  to  be  made — of  which,  however, 
nothing  comes. 


B  Y  T1SDA  LE  BRA  CKEN.  201 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

BY     TISDALE     BRACKEN. 

"  Dolan,  go  and  attend  to  those  earths ;  see  that  they  are 
stopped,"  said  Sir  Gregory  that  evening  as  jumping  from 
his  horse  he  ran  briskly  up  the  stone  steps  leading  to  his 
well  appointed  bachelor's  abode. 

"  'Pon  my  soul,"  cried  he,  irritably,  looking  round  the 
old  halls,  hushed  in  gloom  and  silence,  "I  must  get  mar- 
ried to  enliven  this  old  tomb !  How  sweet  and  bright 
that  little  Eldmere  could  make  it  all  for  me.  I  wonder 
will  she  have  me  when  I  ask  her?  or  more,  I  wonder  will 
she  even  give  me  the  chance  of  taking  her  prim  little 
hand  in  mine  and  proffering  my  request  ?  By  my  faith  if 
she  doesn't — "and  here,  to  signify -the  strength  of  his 
fierce  intentions  in  case  of  such  trying  circumstances,  ho 
quaffed  a  full  goblet  to  her  honor,  for  which  act  of  ap- 
preciation she  would  no  doubt  have  felt  flattered  and 
grateful,  particularly  had  she  seen  him.  stagger  a  little 
towards  the  comfortable  settee  in  front  of  the  cheery  log 
lire  and  stretch  himself  there,  the  while  murmuring  her 
praises  in  very  thickening  speech,  quite  oblivious  to  the 
important  fact  that  his  Mis.  Eldmere  had  been  claimed 
by  another  man. 

"Poor  master,  it  isn't  his  fault!"  said  the  long  limbed 
daughter  of  the  red-haired  Hibernian,  Dolan;  it  isn't  his 
fault.  She  had  him  worked  up  to  that  same,  and  sure 
she  must  be  a  heartless  thing,,  for  master  ho  be  the 


202  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN- 

grandest — "  and  forthwith  her  thoughts  revert  to  last 
Michaelmas,  and  the  largesse  slipped  in  her  hand  by  the 
master  of  the  manor,  accompanied  with  a — well,  we  won't 
mention,  for  the  sake  of  that  dignity  which  I  have  heard 
affirmed  (rightly  or  wrongly  I  dare  not  say)  belongs  inva- 
riabty  to  scions  of  the  old,  old  stock.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  recollection  of  it  made  the  cheeks  of  the  fair  Hiber- 
nian grow  a  little  pinker  under  the  freckles,  and  it  made 
her  feel  justly  indignant  against  any  "  rediculous  stuck 
up  thing"  who  might  affect  to  despise  the  master  she 
chose  to  champion. 

"What  could  she  want  better?"  asked  she  scornfully. 
"  She  thinks  she  has  it,  but  she  hasn't,  that's  sartaiu, 
the  poor  crathur." 

Now  this  daughter  of  a  red-haired  race  boasted,  besides 
freckles,  a  true  womanly  heart,  even  if  it  was  inclined 
to  admire  in  her  master  what  she  considered  was  the 
highest  type  of  manly  beauty,  and  everything  else  besides 
that  was  good  and  noblest  in  her  estimation ;  but  that 
did  not  prevent  her  being  a  sensible,  comfortable,  every- 
day, commonplace  girl— one  who  never  indulged  in  day 
dreams,  although  she  did  commit  the  folly  of  giggling 
when  "the  master"  had  slipped  something  in  her  hand, 
accompanied  with  a — well,  it  is  not  fair,  and  I  won't  tell 
what ! 

She,  Miss  Dolan,  also  rejoiced  in  several  names,  and 
among  others  the  soubriquet  of  Daddy  Long  Limbs 
(translated  legs)  was  her  especial  property,  owing  to  her 
peculiar  length  of  nether  limbs;  and  this  particular 
evening,  when  the  master  of  the  manor  was  happy  in 
his  rather  maudlin  dreams  concerning  his  hard-hearted 
goddess,  there  came  a  ringing  cry  through  the  yard  at 


BY  TISDALE  BRACKEN.  203 

the  rear  of  the  manor :  "  Daddy !  Daddy  Dolan !  come  out 
if  ye  want  to  see  for  yourself  sich  sport — and  quick." 

The  long-limbed  maiden,  with  dishevelled  hair  flying 
in  the  wind,  rushed  out  at  what  she  deemed  a  very  ir- 
resistible appeal  from  the  small  boy  Dolan,  her  brother; 
for  she  knew  it  meant  that  there  were  rats  and  terriers 
in  the  wind,  or  rather  in  the  yard,  ready  for  any  number 
of  exciting  encounters. 

"Fadder  is  goin'  for  to  stop  the  erts,  so  if  we  sneak 
and  make  no  noise,  we  can  have  the  rabbits  to  ourseffs, 
and  steal  a  march  onknownst  to  de  ole  man.  Daddy  doan. 
yees  be  like  a  girl  and  make  noise  like  a  girl,  its  silly ; 
and  if  yees  doan  we'll  have  roas'  rabbit  on  de  quiet." 

Daddy  of  the  long  limbs  had  a  lingering  fondness  for 
rabbit  cooked  in  this  outlaw  fashion,  so  she  vowed  in  a 
piteous  way  that  she  would  not  be  a  bit  like  a  girl,  and 
that  she  would  sneak,  and,  positively,  make  no  noise ; 
whereat  they  started  for  the  fox  and  rabbit  coverts,  tak- 
ing care  to  "'sneak "at  a  careful  distance  from  Dolan 
the  elder,  who  preceded  them  by  the  length  of  about  a 
field. 

It  was  a  moonlight  night,  and  once  within  the  shadow 
of  the  woods  the  little  outlaws  diverged  into  a  track  of 
their  own,  with  their  eager  terriers  throttling  themselves 
in  their  detaining  arms,  in  rebellious  endeavors  to  steal 
off  for  a  scamper  and  a  tear  after  the  timid  little  rabbits. 
At  last,  and  only  when  they  believed  themselves  fairly 
out  of  ear-shot  of  their  revered  parent,  they  gave  them- 
selves unreservedly  to  the  intoxicating  pleasure  of 
slaughtering  any  foolish  little  beast  who  was-  simple 
enough  to  stand  and  play  until  caught  and  worried  to 
death  by  Boxer  and  Foxer. 


HER  PLA  YTHINGS,   MEN. 

Of  these  there  were  not  many,  indeed  I  do  not  think 
any  timid  rodents  gave  them  the  opportunity  of  "  roas' 
rabbit  "that  night;  but  for  all  this  the  little  Dolans 
were  enjoying  themselves  to  the  top  of  their  bent  when 
Boxer  struck  up  a  low  wailing  howl,  a  long  "  keening," 
such  as  dogs  are  wont  to  indulge  in  when  death  is  hov- 
ering around  a  house.  In  a  moment  the  piercingly  sad 
note  was  caught  up  by  Foxer,  while  the  Dolan  children 
stood  rooted  where  they  stood,  prevented  by  a  paralyz- 
ing fear  from  articulating  a  syllable  with  their  trembling 
lips.  The  climax  came  in  the  trampling  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
on  the  mossy  turf,  and  scarcely  daring  to  look  at  the 
dark  figure  which,  distinct  in  the  moonlight,  loomed 
above  them  in  the  saddle,  they  turned  with  as  genuine 
a  howl  of  terror  as  even  their  beloved  Boxer  or  Foxer 
had  been  capable  of  and  faced  for  home,  scampering  all 
the  way.  There  they  arrived,  to  their  astonishment,  in 
safety,  and  I  do  not  think  that  ever  after  they  cared  ex- 
actly to  disturb  the  gentle  little  rabbits  on  moonlight 
nights. 

Had  they  stayed  in  the  woods  with  their  parent  they 
might  have  heard  still  more  weird  sounds  while  that 
person  was  applying  himself  diligently  to  the  stopping 
of  the  earths.  Two  of  these  had  been  securely  fastened 
against  the  inatinal  return  of  the  fox,  when  suddenly  he 
had  occasion  to  whistle  for  his  dog.  This  was  a  noble 
greyhound,  black  as  coal,  neatly  and  cleanly  built,  and 
fleet  of  limb ;  the  pride  and  delight  in  fact  of  the  sport- 
loving  Hibernian,  who  never  went  anywhere  without  his 
much  esteemed  canine  companion.  But  to-night,  al- 
though he  would  not  have  sacrificed  his  dog's  compan- 
ship,  he  could  not  help  thinking,  with  a  slightly  uneasy 


BY  TISDALE  BRACKEN.  203 

feeling,  for  be  was  a  superstitious  man,  bow  weird  and 
gbostly  appeared  the  spectre-like  bound,  as  in  and  out 
of  tbe  tangled  undergrowth  of  tree  and  sbrub  be  glided 
witb  noiseless  foot-fall.  Wben,  therefore,  the  bound  drop- 
ped himself  suddenly  prone  on  the  earth  a  few  paces 
ahead  of  him,  and  stretched  his  limbs  and  tail  to  a  stark, 
rigid  stiffness— the  while  setting  up  so  partly  fierce,  part- 
ly dismal  a  howl — the  right-hand  man  of  Sir  Gregory 
Athelhurst,  in  a  moment  of  nervousness,  seized  his 
double-barrel  breech-loader,  and  in  an  instant  had  his 
finger  on  the  trigger. 

Not  a  moment  too  soon,  he  told  himself,  had  he  placed 
himself,  on  guard,  for  down  one  of  the  open  glades  inter- 
secting the  woods  came  a  horse  at  full  gallop,  which 
gave  him  but  scant  measure  of  time  to  spring  aside,  as 
with  frantic  speed  the  animal  tore  on  through  the  woods, 
hushed  till  now  in  the  still  midnight.  The  moonlight 
flooded  his  pathway,  and  in  the  moment  when  he  had  to 
spring  aside  so  deftly  or  be  trampled  upon,  Dolan  bad 
caught  sight  of  the  flutter  of  a  lady's  riding  habit. 

"  Be  krapes !  who  can  be  out  in  the  woods  this  awful 
hour?"  he  cried  angrily  to  himself,  although  his  teeth  did 
chatter  a  bit — "  and  a  lady  too,  who  ought  to  be  warm  and 
snug  in  her  little  bed  at  home ;  but  it's  a  sorry  trick,  and 
I  wouldn't  choose  to  be  the  lady,"  he  concluded,  scorn- 
fully, feeling  indignant  enough  to  hold  the  said  lady  up 
to  the  ridicule  and  gossip  of  the  whole  country  around. 

However,  he  did  not  have  much  time  to  plan  ven- 
geance, when  a  sudden  and  appalling  thought  froze  his 
blood.  "  She  might  be  a  sperret,  the  Lord  presarve  me  ! " 
Whereat  his  teeth  fairly  rattled  in  his  head,  and  his 
knees  shook  beneath  him.  However,  these  mental  ter- 


206  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

rors  were  mild  to  those  which  seized  him  a  moment  later, 
making  his  blood  freeze,  and  leaving  him  entirely  unde- 
cided whether  he  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  de- 
lirium tremens,  or  whether  he  was  really  standing  in 
the  moon  flooded  woods  by  Tisdale  Bracken,  for  through 
those  woods  rang  out  clear  and  wild  .and  full  of  music, 
in  the  dead  stillness  of  the  midnight,  a  cry  which  made 
the  woods  resound,  from  end  to  end  as  it  were,  with  the 
thrilling  blast  of  the  huntsman's  bugle,  as  he  puts  his 
treasures,  the  fox-hounds,  into  covert  to  begin  their 
search  for  their  appointed  prey. 

"Hi,  get  in  there;  get  in,  get  in  !  Now  you're  on  him, 
brave  fellows,  my  beauties,  no\v  you're  on  him ;  Neptune, 
get  in  there.  'Ware,  hound  F'  This  last  ejaculation  being 
emphasized  by  the  loud  cracking  of  the  huntsman's  whip, 
and  then  there  followed  a  startliugly  ringing  cry  of 
"Tally-ho!  tally-ho!  tally-ho!  gone  aw-a-ay !''  accom- 
panied by  a  long  and  cheery  blast  of  the  horn. 

Echo  answered  echo  from  the  neighboring  hills,  until 
the  silvery  tones  were  caught  and  hurled  back  from  the 
old  tower  walls  of  Bramber,  rousing  the  answering  call 
again  into  mocking  life  amid  the  stillness  of  the  slum- 
bering woods,  until  at  last,  in  weird  ripples  of  bell-like 
notes,  it  died  away  in  the  dells,  leaving  all  things  steep- 
ed in  solemn  repose  once  more.  Eerie  the  whole  thing 
was,  and  savoring  highly  of  the  supernatural,  in  the  opin- 
of  Dolan,  whose  cap  refused  to  lie  any  longer  on  his 
bristling  hair,  and  with  the  assistance  of  which  he  was 
fain  to  dash  some  beads  of  moisture  from  his  brow.  Had 
he  been  capable  of  framing  a  few  thoughts  on  the  occa- 
sion, he  would  have  quickly  built  up  a  pretty  little  ro- 
mance, and  told  himself  that  the  "  leddy  was  out  for  a 


BY  TISDALE  BRACKEN.  207 

lark."  But  with  the  demoniacal  sounds  of  huntsman's 
whip  and  horn  ringing  through  the  woods,  there  was 
nothing  could  persuade  the  solitary  terror-beset  Dolan 
that  the  figure  on  horseback  was  other  than  that  of  a 
"sperret,"  and  when  next  the  wild  black  horse  came 
careering  down  the  wind,  dashing  full  upon  him  as 
though  he  himself  owned  a  spirit's  claim  to  invisibil- 
ity, Dolan  stepped  aside,  and  raised  his  gun  to  his 
shoulder.  He  knew  that  the  horse  was  a  valuable  one, 
and  that  there  was  nothing  of  the  spirit  about  it,  but  the 
figure  sitting  so  straight  in  the  saddle,  what  was  it? 
This  was  what  Dolan  wished  to  glean,  when,  raising  his 
breech-loader  to  his  shoulder,  he  took  deliberate  aim.  The 
report  rang  out  as  the  unknown  horsewoman  dashed  by, 
and  Dolan  saw  by  the  large  tear  in  the  flimsy  veil  that 
the  shot  had  struck  her  over  the  ear,  glancing  off,  then  in 
the  direction  of  an  old  oak,  where  it  lodged,  and  was 
afterwards  found  by  Dolan.  Of  the  bullet  having  struck 
her  Dolau  was  certain.  Judge,  therefore,  of  his  surprise 
when,  without  a  groan  or  even  a  sound  escaping  her  im- 
movable lips,  and  sitting  erect  as  ever  in  her  saddle,  she 
continued  her  reckless  course  through  the  woods.  But 
something  more  than  mere  horror  was  now  running 
through  Dolan's  mind,  for  in  the  moonlight  he  had  seen 
the  lady's  face. 

"Krapes,  it's  the  lady  of  the  Grange  or  her  sperret!" 
and  Dolan  pere  scurried  home  just  as  precipitately  and 
about  as  gracefully  as  had  his  long-limbed  daughter 
earlier  in  the  night. 

"Confoundedly  awkward  this  prejudice  in  the  Hibern- 
ian mind  against  harmless  spirits,"  thought  Sir  Gregory 
next  morning  on  hearing  the  ghostly  story.  "  I  myself 


208  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

would  not  mind  being  beset  by  half  a  dozen  supernatu- 
rals,  but  here  is  this  blockhead,  Dolan,  will  never  stop 
the  earths  for  me  in  future,  because  a  horse  galloped  by 
him  in  the  dark,  which  is  deucedly  stupid."  But  so  it 
was  for  years  after,  Dolan  could  scarcely  be  coaxed  out- 
side his  doors  when  once  darkness  had  fallen,  and  more 
especially  did  he  shun  the  glories  of  a  moonlight  night, 
for  he  had  seen  and  could  affirm  with  his  dying  breath 
that  it  was  moonlight  nights  that  the  spirits  most  af- 
fected. 

The  next  morning — after  Dolan  had  seen  a  ghost — 
dawned  intensely  cold.  The  hunting  men  at  the  Manor- 
house,  looking  at  an  early  hour  from  their  windows,  be- 
held a  spreading  expanse  of  white,  frost-covered  fields, 
hard  and  stern  enough  to  defy  any  ray  of  sunshine  to 
soften  them  to-day,  and  they  turned  from  the  view  with 
a  disgusted  whistle  and  the  exclamation  of  "  No  hunting 
to-day  1"  Daddy  Dolan,  who  has  spent  most  of  the  night 
out-of-doors,  sliding  on  various  little  sheets  of  ice  that 
came  in  her  way — which  pastime  she  would  not  miss  for 
anything — has  called  early  at  the  Grange,  and  finding 
that  neither  Mrs.  Cresenworth  nor  Topsie  had  spent  the 
night  there,  she  becomes  alarmed,  and  stands  thinking 
for  some  moments  with  her  mouth  open.  The  deter- 
mination she  then  comes  to  may  be  described  in  the  man- 
ner she  puts  it  into  action.  After  one  or  two  wise  nods 
and  grunts  she  suddenly  takes  to  her  heels  and  runs  as 
hard  as  her  legs  can  carry  her,  till,  out  of  breath  and  di- 
shevelled, she  arrives  at  the  Manor-house,  and  rushes 
into  the  breakfast-room,  where  Sir  Gregory  and  Kutland 
Borradale  are  enjoying  their  morning  meal,  reading  the 
newspapers  and  cursiug  the  weather  alternately.  Dad- 


BY  TISDALE  BRACKEN.  209 

dy's  appearance,  like  a  bombshell  in  their  inidst,  consid- 
erably startles  both  men,  and  Sir  Gregory  swears  a  little 
as  he  asks  impatiently : 

"  What  the  deuce  does  Daddy  mean  by  this  inoppor- 
tune appearance  ?" 

The  girl  pants  for  breath,  and  then  rushes  into  her 
story  with  incoherent  haste. 

UI  knew  as  something  were  going  to  happen,"  she 
says,  "  for  a  many  things  had  warned  me  this  last  night. 
Pat  and  I  were  out  in  the  woods,  and  we  see  the  stran- 
gest being  riding  on  horseback,  while  the  crazy  hunts- 
man followed,  crying,  'Tally-ho!  tally-ho!'  It  were 
neither  man  nor  woman,"  says  Daddy,  dropping  her 
voice  to  an  awe-struck  whisper ;  "  it  were  a  spirit,  and 
Pat  and  me  felt  our  flesh  creep  when  it  flew  past.  They 
seemed  to  be  riding  towards  the  Grange,  and  maybe  it 
was  a  token,  for  the  ladies  is  missing,  both  Mrs.  Cresen- 
worth  and  Miss  Topsie,  and  the  Lord  knows  where  they 
may  be  by  this  time,  with  wild  horses  and  crazy  hunts- 
men after  'em." 

"  What  under  heaven  do  you  mean,  girl,  by  all  this 
rigmarole !  Speak  out  and  tell  the  truth  !"  thunders  the 
baronet. 

"  It's  the  truth  I've  told  ye,"  Daddy  answers,  sullenly. 
"  The  ladies  are  missing.  They  haven't  been  seen  at  the 
Grange  since  yesterday,  and  were  not  there  last  night." 

This  news  greatly  alarms  Sir  Gregory,  who,  leaving 
his  breakfast  unfinished,  rushes  out  to  have  a  horse  sad- 
dled, leaving  Eutlaud  Borradale  alone  in  the  room  with 
the  girl. 

No  sooner  is  Sir  Gregory  out  of  sight  than  Daddy  rubs 
her  hands  together  with  delight,  and  says  to  herself: 


210  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

"I  knew  that  would  bring  him  out.  He  thinks  a  pow- 
erful deal  of  the  ladies,  but  what  would  he  say  if  he 
knew  that  Mrs.  Creseuworth  is  running  away  with  that 
bad  man,  De  MontfordP 

"Mrs.  Cresenworth  —  De  Montford  1"  says  Eutland 
Borradale,  in  a  horrified  whisper,  catching  hold  of 
Daddy.  "  Tell  me  what  you  mean,  girl  P 

"  Just  what  I  say,"  answers  Daddy,  wrathfully.  "  I 
can't  tell  you  no  more,  as  I  don't  know  no  better  than 
you  do.  What  with  ghosts  and  missing  folks,  I'm  that 
dazed  I  don't  know  nothing  to-day,  and  that's  a  fact." 

This  is  all  Eutlaud  Borradale  can  extract  from  Daddy, 
and  so  he^too,  has  his  horse  saddled  and  roughed,  and, 
springing  upon  his  back,  he  gallops  him  across  country 
in  the  direction  of  De  Mont  ford's  cottage. 


DONE  ONCE— DONE  TWICE!  211 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  DONE   ONCE — DONE   TWICE  !" 

At  De  Montford's  cottage  in  the  early  morning  a  dain- 
ty head  protrudes  from  a  small  lattice,  and  two  hand- 
some laughing  eyes  are  coquetting  with  the  duller  ones 
of  the  ptoughboy,  who,  supposed  to  be  engaged  at  that 
hour  in  weeding  the  flower-beds  on  the  terrace,  is  in- 
stead gazing  with  open  eyes  and  mouth — into  which  his 
goddess  has  already  shot  three  little  missiles  of  dust  and 
water — at  the  unaccustomedly  lovely  vision  above  him. 
Suddenly,  however,  to  the  surprise  of  the  ploughboy, 
the  head  of  his  enchantress  disappears  very  quickly, 
and  looking  around  for  the  cause  he  sees  the  master  of 
the  cottage  approaching  in  company  with  a  stranger. 
Finding  himself  taken  as  much  notice  of  as  if  he  were  a 
shrub  or  a  stone,  he  stays  to  overhear  some  significant 
words  spoken  by  the  stranger  in  a  dry,  meaning  voice. 

"  What  has  been  done  once,  my  dear  fellow,  can  be 
done  twice  j  we  shall  see  if  you  have  duped  the  lady,  or 
if  the  lady  has  not  duped  you !" 

Ere  they  have  time  to  turn  the  key  in  the  lock,  how- 
ever, they  are  precipitately  joined  by  Sir  Gregory  Athel- 
hurst,  arriving  from  one  quarter  in  a  painful  state  of 
manly  alarm  for  the  safety  and  well-being  of  his  admired 
one,  and  a  moment  later,  from  another  direction,  by 
Murray  Cresenworth,  who  looksfeverish  and  purple  about 
the  eyes,  as  he  comes  to  seek  for  he  knows  not  what  har- 


212  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

rowing  confirmation  of  bis  wife's  guilty  sliame.  It  is 
early  morning  yet,  and  intensely  cold,  as  the  four  men 
stand  on  the  threshold  of  De  Montford's  shooting  cot- 
tage, which  is,  by  common  consent,  to  be  the  next  mo- 
ment ruthlessly  invaded. 

Sir  Gregory  precedes  his  friends,  and  by  doing  so  re- 
ceives a  greeting  ovation  in  the  shape  of  a  solid  mass  of 
treacle  on  just  the  right  part  of  his  bald  head !  Next 
comes  De  Montford,  who  divines  that  the  penalty  in- 
flicted upon  his  forerunner  is  meant  for  him,  but  whose 
emotions  are  too  powerful  to  allow  him  to  smile;  and 
lastly  comes  the  determined-looking  stranger  and  Mur- 
ray Cresenworth.  A  little  scream  and  a  succession  of 
giggles  are  heard,  and  a  suppressed  cry  of  "  Mon  Dieu, 
quelle  horreure  1"  and  when  the  men  emerge  from  the 
gloomy  stairway  into  the  sunlight  of  the  room  they  see 
a  very  charming  sight,  but  one  which  nevertheless  has 
the  effect  of  petrifying  De  Montford  as  he  gazes,  spell- 
bound, at  the  apparition  of  the  two  ladies,  who  have 
evidently  shared  the  privacy  of  his  apartment.  Hitherto 
throughout  all  that  has  been  happening  he  has  held  his 
head  very  proudly,  as  that  of  a  conqueror,  for  he  has  had 
reason  to  tell  himself  that  the  one  being  who  to  him  was 
worth  all  things  else  was  waiting  for  him  at  his  cottage, 
and  could  not  be  torn  from  his  arms.  But  now  his 
head  almost  sinks  to  his  broad  chest  with  aggravated 
rage  and  disappointment  ;  he  clinches  his  hands  and  sets 
his  teeth,  for  he  sees  it  all — how  he  has  been  duped; 
and,  moreover,  he  now  tells  himself  he  will  have  to  strain 
every  power  of  his  ordinarily  active  brain  to  extricate 
himself  within  the  next  hour  from  the  tangled  meshes  he 
finds  hampering  him  on  all  sides. 


DONE  ONCE— DONE  TWICE!         li!3 

Flung  carelessly  over  a  chair  he  sees  the  costly  mantle 
which  he  knew  was  owned  by  Elra  Cresen worth  (another 
such,  to  his  knowledge,  was  not  to  be  found  in  Paris  or 
London),  and  in  whose  folds  of  silken  gray  and  rose  he 
had  vainly  imagined  himself  to  be  gathering  in  his  arms 
the  beauty  and  wealth  and  worth  he  would  give  half  the 
world  at  that  moment  to  own. 

Standing  beside  the  chair  is  a  vision  of  dainty  piquant 
loveliness  attired  in  Tarn  o'  Shanter  cap  and  silken  sash 
and  kirtle,  such  as  the  hardy  Highlanders  wear,  and 
which  made  no  effort  to  conceal  a  finely  moulded  limb, 
while  at  a  little  distance,  farther  in  the  shade,  was 
what  appeared  to  be  another  figure  clad  in  the  same 
costume,  rather  a  caricature  upon  her  companion. 

If  De  Montford  had  been  startled  by  the  revelation 
thus  made  to  him,  Murray  Cresen  worth's  sensations  upon 
learning  the  true  state  of  affairs  can  better  be  imagined 
than  described.  As  the  truth  flashed  upon  him  he  was 
able  to  comprehend  the  full  meaning  of  the  situation, 
and,  with  a  low  groan  of  agony  and  despair,  he  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

Here  the  marchioness  breaks  into  a  ripple  of  malicious 
laughter  as  she  sees  Maudie's  evident  mortification,  and 
notes  with  delight  the  tragic  faces  of  the  men  before  her. 

"  Maudie,  tell  the  gentlemen  what  a  royal  time  we 
have  been  having,"  she  says.  "  Is  not  the  suspicion  of 
wickedness  often  a  much  more  palatable  and  enjoyable 
ingredient  than  mere  wickedness  itself?  It  is  so  much 
more  spicy  and  so  much  more  dangerous.  Now,  although 
Maudie  and  I  have  borne  our  misfortunes  with  the  sanc- 
tity of  angels  all  night  (we  caught  a  rat  to  while  away 
the  time),  I  have  no  doubt  that  if  my  husband— dear 


214:  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

little  Cupid,  you  know ! — were  to  insinuate  his  fat  limbs 
up  that  narrow  stairway  and  see  me  here,  he  would  cer- 
tainly be  unkind  enough  to  knock  one  of  you  gentlemen 
down  or  to  shoot  another !  As  for  me,  he  would  get  a 
divorce  this  very  day  if  he  only  knew  he  could  get  it 
annulled  to-morrow." 

She  says  this  with  a  quick  look  at  Murray  Cresen- 
worth  and  then  laughs  softly  to  herself,  for  that  gentle- 
man has  been  writhing  beneath  her  words,  and  is  now 
calling  for  a  glass  of  water  with  all  the  helplessness  of  a 
fainting  woman  previous  to  sinking  on  a  chair,  with  an 
ugly  ashen-gray  look  about  his  mouth  and  eyes,  while  he 
holds  a  hand  to  his  side,  as  if  he  suffered  pain  in  tho 
direction  where  he  had  been  shot. 

For  a  moment  no  one  speaks ;  but  the  painful  silence 
is  broken  by  Sir  Gregory,  who  whispers  something  to 
De  Montford,  and  then  goes  out  to  fetch  the  needed  stim- 
ulant for  Mr.  Cresenworth,  while  De  Moutford  looks  in 
vain  for  the  stranger,  who,  somehow,  has  evidently  con- 
trived to  make  his  escape,  as  he  is  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  Here  he  is,"  thinks  De  Montford,  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
as  a  quick,  heavy  footstep  is  heard  upon  the  stair,  and 
the  next  moment  the  Marquis  of  Eipdale  comes  upon  the 
scene,  to  find  himself  face  to  face  with — Ms  wife. 

She  calmly  smiles  as  she  surveys  the  intruder,  who, 
with  a  furious  look,  grunts  out  a  series  of  oaths  be- 
tween his  teeth  at  the  gentlemen  around ;  and  turning 
to  his  wife  with  as  disgusted  an  air  as  Napoleon  might 
have  worn  when  at  a  ball  he  told  his  sister,  who  was 
dancing  in  full  dress,  "Pauline,  go  and  put  on  your 
ch — s— e  !  the  Marquis  of  Eipdale  exhorts  his  spouse  to 
cover  her  limbs  a  little  more,  and  not  to  show  so  much  of 


DONE  ONCE— DONE  TWICE!  215 

lier  shapely  ankles.  Whereat  she  robes  herself  in  the 
lovely  gray  cloak  which  has  been  the  innocent  cause  of 
all  this  trouble,  and  with  a  sprightly  air  of  extreme  in- 
difference she  takes  leave  of  Maudie,  and  is  about  to 
gain  the  stairway,  but  in  passing  by  the  window  she 
glances  out  and  sees  so  strange  a  sight  that  her  excla- 
mation of  surprise  brings  the  other  occupants  of  the 
room  at  once  to  her  side  to  see,  in  their  turn,  two  horse- 
women, one  rather  in  advance  of  the  other,  careering 
aimlessly  over  the  hill  that  protects  the  back  of  the  cot- 
tage from  the  northern  blast.  All  crowd  to  see  it  save, 
indeed,  De  Montford,  who  has  quietly  slipped  from  the 
room,  ordered  his  horse  to  be  saddled,  and  springing 
across  his  hunter's  back,  has,  in  an  incredibly  short 
time,  gained  the  side  of  one  of  the  ladies  who  had  been 
seen  from  the  cottage  window.  But  he  is  not  unlbllowed. 
"My  business  here  is  not  ended  yet,"  mutters  the 
stranger  before  mentioned,  as  coming  up  with  De  Mont- 
ford  he  overhears  that  worthy,  with  all  tho  telling  elo- 
quence of  desperation,  pleading  for  Elra's  love,  very 
much  as  if  he  were  pleading  for  his  own  life.  He  hears 
him  cruelly  urge  upon  her  her  bitter  position  as  the  di- 
vorced and  despised  wife  of  Cresen worth ;  he  urges  like- 
wise upon  her  that  it  had  been  with  his  name  she  had 
been  compromised,  through  110  fault  of  hers,  of  course, 
but  that  fact  a  malicious  world  will  not  credit;  and  he 
concludes  by  entreating  her  to  silence  all  bitter  tongues 
by  becoming  without  delay  his  loved,  respected  and 
adored  wife.  Elra  listens  to  his  words  in  silence  for 
some  time,  and  then  suddenly  pointing  to  the  other  lady 
on  horseback  at  a  little  distance  from  them,  whose  figure 
her  eyes  have  never  wandered  from,  she  says,  quietly : 


21G  HER  PLA  YTHINGS,  MEN. 

"  You  shall  have  the  only  answer  worthy  your  loyalty 
and  devotion  when  we  hold  yonder  lady's  horse  by  the 
bridle."  Her  manner  was  so  softly,  dangerously  sweet, 
with  so  much  alluring  languor  in  her  eyes,  that  De 
Moutford  could  scarce  trust  his  senses,  and  dared  not 
indulge  in  the  swift  hope  that  shot  through  his  frame, 
making  life  turn  to  a  rose-color  once  more  for  him. 

"  Oh,  if  it  could  but  be !"  he  thinks,  distractedly,  and 
carrying  her  gloved  hand  reverently  to  his  lips  he  kisses 
it  with  a  fervor  which  he  gladly  thinks  must  have  im- 
pressed Elra,  as  she  turns  quickly  from  him.  "  My  sov- 
ereign queen,  command  me  unto  death,"  he  whispers, 
ere  breaking  into  a  gallop  they  follow  up  the  unknown 
lady  on  horseback. 

Scarce  five  minutes  later  the  stranger,  who  had  been  a 
silent  witness  of  the  above  scene,  was  startled  by  the  sud- 
den appearance  and  wild  air  of  a  younger  horseman  on 
the  ground,  who  asks  him,  in  breathless  tones,  "  Elra— 
De  Montford — where  are  they  ?" 

"Gone  to  the  railway  station  yonder,  I  presume,"  re- 
torts the  stranger,  coolly  pointing  towards  the  retreating 
figures  of  the  two  equestrians. 

"  Powers  of  heaven,  if  that  be  true,  he'll  die  first !" 
and  driving  the  spurs  savagely  into  his  horse's  flank,  he 
strikes  across  the  fields  rather  wildly  after  them. 

"Her  spirit  is  perhaps  crushed,  poor  little  soul,  and  she 
may  even  do  this  in  her  desperation.  Oh,  for  a  hand  to 
help  her !  Shall  I  be  there  in  time  !  Can  I  possibly  f ' 

This  is  said  in  horror,  as  he  sees  the  railway  cars  cir- 
cling along  like  a  serpent  in  the  valley,  within  ten  min- 
utes' course  from  the  halting-place,  and  he  looks  over  the 
fine  wide  fields  of  stubble  and  turnip  ridge,  besides  the 


DONE  ONCE— DONE   TWICE!  217 

yawning  ditches  that  he  must  put  behind  him  ere  he 
can  arrive  in  time  to  save  his  loved  one  from  her  immi- 
nent danger.  He  puts  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  with  an 
encouraging  word  cheers  on  the  noble  brute  to  show  his 
mettle  now  or  never.  On  they  go,  at  a  mad  gallop  over 
fields  and  hedges,  till  they  reach  the  last  obstacle  which 
separates  them  from  the  road  beyond.  Here,  alas!  they 
are  less  fortunate,  and  Borradale  perceives  when  too  late 
the  mass  of  ice  which,  slippery  as  a  sheet  of  polished 
glass,  is  waiting  to  receive  them.  He  clears  the  fence 
with  a  tremendous  leap,  but  as  his  horse's  hoofs  strike 
on  the  glittering  ice  he  stumbles,  and  fulling  heavily, 
with  a  dull  crash,  rolls  helplessly,  like  a  log,  backward 
into  the  dark  yawning  ditch  behind.  In  his  frantic 
struggles  Borradale  knows  that  it  has  fared  badly  with 
his  gallant  horse,  but  he  has  not  time  to  help  him  out  in 
his  distress. 

"  Poor  noble  brute !  you  have  saved  my  angel !  no 
breath  can  touch  her  still,"  he  cries.  But  he  was  not  a 
moment  too  soon.  The  train  had  drawn  up  to  the  platform, 
and  De  Moutford,  after  a  word  of  coldly  received  entreaty, 
becomes  desperate.  Fearless  of  consequence  he  has  now 
placed  his  arm  on  her  waist,  and  is  drawing  her  forcibly 
along.  Appalled  by  this  unlocked  for  danger,  Elra  can- 
not force  back  the  little  shriek  that  is  startled  from  her 
lips,  and  which  begs  very  eloquently  for  manly  assist- 
ance in  her  hour  of  need.  In  another  moment  De  Mont- 
ford  finds  his  arm  struck  more  roughly  and  forcibly  than 
politely  from  its  position  about  Elra  Brookley's  waist, 
and  turning  he  encounters  the  flaming  eyes  of  what  he 
considers  a  madman.  Then,  while  they  are  amiably 
looking  at  one  another,  the  train  passes  on.  It  is  well 


218  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

that  the  two  men  have  not  much  time  for  lengthy  con- 
vorsation  for  they  are  both  stammering  with  rage,  when 
Dr.  Warder,  with  De  Montford's  strange  companion  of 
the  morning  beside  him,  drives  up  alongside  them,  and 
following  timidly,  as  it  were,  comes  a  horse  down  the 
road,  at  sight  of  which  Elra  wrings  her  hands.  "  It  is 
Topsie !  quick,  quick !  catch  her  horse  !" 

The  animal  that  had  evaded  all  pursuit  by  Elra  dur- 
ing the  morning  appeared  now  in  rather  an  exhausted 
condition,  and,  having  once  come  within  range,  was  cau- 
tiously circumvented  by  the  gentlemen's  united  efforts. 
Dr.  Warder  seizing  the  bridle,  and  with  an  exclamation 
of  horror,  and  "  I  have  come  too  late !"  leads  the  horse 
close  to  Elra. 

"Dearest  Topsie,  speak!"  cries  that  lady,  aghast  at 
the  deathly  pallor  of  the  girl's  face,  the  starkness  of  her 
limbs,  while  from  those  around  her  burst  exclamations 
of  'Who  is  she?'  'Dead!'  '  Can  it  bef  'Topsie!' 
'As  I  live,  Lady  Lenore  Allesmere  !' 

"  Quick,  Warder,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  save  her ! 
save  her!" 

"  Is  this,  indeed,  Topsie,  and  have  I  come  too  late  ?" 
says  a  new  arrival  on  the  scene,  and  turning  they  see 
that  the  group  has  been  joined  by  Eoanwood  Offington, 
with  rather  a  distracted  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  fear,"  says  Dr.  Warder,  solemnly,  "  we  have  all 
come  too  late.  Lady  Leiiore  de  Montford  is,  if  I  mistake 
not,  far  beyond  our  assistance." 

"De  Moutford!"  "  De  Montford!"  "De  Montford!" 
is  repeated  around  in  all  the  tones  of  the  ascending  and 
descending  scale. 

While  this  conversation  has  been  taking  place,  the 


DONE  ONCE— DONE  TWICE!  219 

doctor  has  been  busily  engaged  in  loosening  the  straps 
that  bind  Lady  Lenore  to  the  saddle,  and,  while  Elra  is 
placing  some  cordial  to  her  lips  in  a  vain  hope,  the  phy- 
sician turns  to  the  assembled  group  and  saj-s,  warmly: 

'•Yes,  gentlemen,  this  cruelly  calumniated  lady  has 
been  all  these  years  the  wife  of  that  brave  man  yonder!" 
and  he  scornfully  indicates  De  Montford,  "  as  may  be 
seen  by  her  marriage  certificate;  and  now  help  me  with 
those  cords  on  the  far  side  !" 

So  saying,  he  hands  to  Elra  a  paper,  the  reading  of 
which  strikes  a  great  wonder  into  her  soul.  Turning 
to  her  erstwhile  suitor,  she  says,  in  icy  tones: 

"  What  greeting  has  De  Montford  for  his  lost  bride  f 

De  Montford  looks  at  her  as  coldly  contemptuous 
as  a  man  who  appreciates  her  mental  powers  as  very 
small. 

"Yarns  —  if  you  will  excuse  me" — he  retorts,  "are 
believed  by  mere  women,  but  a  man  must  see  the  signa- 
ture of  the  officiating  clergyman  before  he  begins  to  be- 
lieve anything  so  impossible  as  this  stupid  concoction;" 
and  to  himself  he  thinks,  "  So  that  is  the  trick  that  was 
practised  on  me  that  night.  I  had  feared  something- of 
the  kind,  but  it  will  avail  her  nothing.  Part  of  the  cer- 
tificate is  lost  anyhow."  But  suddenly  he  remembers  a 
little  piece  of  torn  paper  which  he  had  seen  in  Mrs. 
Cresenworth's  possession,  dated  and  signed  by  the  Eev. 
George  Grey,  and  which  might  very  well  answer  for 
the  torn  corner  of  the  certificate  before  him  ;  and  even 
though  the  wife  with  whom  he  has  so  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  been  confronted  has  the  every  appearance 
of  a  corpse,  De  Montford  loses  a  little  of  his  assurance. 
Suddenly  a  happy  idea  seems  to  strike  him.  He  is  will- 


220  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

ing  to  accept  Lenore  as  his  wife,  since  public  opinion  is 
so  strong  on  that  point,  and  he  thinks  of  a  passage  in  the 
last  will  of  the  late  Marquis  of  Ripdale,  his  wife's  father, 
in  which,  to  his  beloved  daughter  Lenore  was  left  the 
sum  of  £30,000.  «  By  Jove!"  he  thinks  to  himself,  "  it 
cannot  be  possible  that  you  have  had  a  wife's  capital  at 
your  command  all  this  time  and  did  not  make  use  of  it." 

Roan  wood  Offington  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  doc- 
tor's explanations,  for  he  can  scarcely  realize  the  full 
extent  of  the  misery  it  has  brought  him.  That  Topsie's 
real  name  is  Lady  Lenore,  and  above  all  that  she  is  another 
man's  ivife,  seems  to  him  impossible  of  belief.  In  the 
mean  time  the  doctor  has  disappeared,  but  some  one  has 
caught  the  words  "  Frozen  to  death  while  still  under  the 
influence  of  the  morphine,"  dropped  from  his  lips,  as, 
gathering  the  stark  form  of  Lady  Lenore  in  his  arms,  he 
carried  her  towards  the  station-master's  little  cottage, 
and  once  in  its  cosy  rooms,  dismisses  all  useless  attend- 
ants and  spectators,  while  using  all  the  means  in  his 
power  he  applies  restoratives. 

Outside  the  cottage  the  conversation  in  the  group 
waxes  loud  and  stormy. 

"  My  wife,  indeed  !  So  that  was  the  trick  practised 
on  me  by  clever  Leuore  Allesmere,  was  it  f ' 

"  Don't  dare  to  breathe  her  name,  you  in — or  I'll 
knock  you  down  !"  and  the  stranger  steps  towards  him 
menacingly. 

"Knock  me  down  for  speaking  about  my  wife?  I'd 
like  you  to  remember  that  I  have  the  right  to  demand  of 
you  why  you  mention  the  lady.  As  for  me,  with  regard 
to  her,  I  speak  and  act  as  I  choose,  without  consulting 
you." 


DONE  ONCE— DONE  TWICE!  221 

"  Will  you  !"  says  bis  strange  friend  of  the  previous 
night,  as  he  closed  his  mouth  with  an  ominous  snap. 

"  I  will,  if  it  so  please  you,  my  lord,"  retorts  De  Mont- 
ford,  caustically.  "  To  begin  with,  my  wife's  £30,000  will 
go  immediately  to  capitalize  the  little  scheme  you  are 
interested  in." 

.    "  Naturally,"  laughs  the  other,  "  when  you  get  it  be- 
tween your  fingers." 

"You  will  see  how  quickly  the  law  of  England  will 
enable  me  to  touch  my  bride's  dowry.  A  dead  wife  is 
ready  money,  you  know,"  he  says,  rubbing  his  hands 
softly  together. 

"  Before  you  avail  yourself  of  the  wealth  at  your  dis- 
posal, you  ought  to  learn  a  few  facts  which  will  enlighten 
you  as  to  the  way  in  which  you  stand  with  regard  to  your 
wife." 

Here  the  stranger  dashes  off  into  a  recital  which  holds 
his  listeners  spellbound. 


222  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  BRAVE    LITTLE     HEART." 

I  was  a  clerk  in  a  London  bank,  and  bad  returned  to 
witness  the  ceremonies  and  festivities  which  were  to  fol- 
low the  nuptials  of  our  own  Lady  Artrale  Allesmere  and 
Redstone,  Earl  de  Bruu.  The  marriage  had  not  been 
announced  publicly,  as  the  family  were  in  mourning,  but 
that  would  not  prevent  the  people  on  the  estate  from 
celebrating  it  in  jovial  fashion.  So  I  had  got  off  from 
duty  on  a  four  days'  holiday,  and  intended  to  share  in 
the  fun,  while  I  stayed  with  my  father,  who  used  to  be 
Jack,  the  valued  huntsman  of  the  old  Marquis  of  Rip- 
dale,  but  was  now  superseded.  What  happened  to  me 
then  on  the  night  before  the  wedding  was  this : 

Standing  in  the  shrubbery,  under  the  pale  light  of  a 
young  crescent  moon,  which  was  slowly  rising  in  the 
heavens,  I  overheard  De  Moutford's  conversation  with 
Lady  Leuore  : 

"  Where  is  Artrale  F 

"  Not  to  be  seen  to-night." 

"  That  is  not  true.  I  must  see  her,  if  I  have  to  brave 
it  all  and  walk  into  her  father's  library  to  demand  her. 
I  start  for  Brussels  early  in  the  morning,  and  as  I  love 
her  tenderly,  and  have  no  intention  of  trusting  to  her 
changeable  disposition,  I  mean  to  have  the  ceremony  of 
our  promised  marriage  performed  this  very  night,  even 
if  I  have  to  spill  my  heart's  blood  for  it." 


BRA  VE  LITTLE  HEART.  .  223 

"  Then,"  says  Lenore,  after  a  pause,  during  which  she 
has  sought  to  gain  time,  "  your  last  letter  should  have  ar- 
rived earlier,  for  Artrale,  having  had  a  previous  engage- 
ment at  the  'Firs'  for  the  masquerade  ball  to-night, 
went  there  this  afternoon  in  time  for  an  early  dinner." 

"  Not  doubting  your  word,  of  course,"  retorted  De 
Montford  coldly,  fearing  a  ruse,  "  but  being  quite  deter- 
mined to  see  and  speak  with  Lady  Artrale  this  night,  if 
even  in  the  presence  of  her  assembled  family,  I  shall 
beg  your  excuses  for  passing  on  towards  the  castle,  or 
may  I  hope  to  have  your  escort  f ' 

His  determination  evidently  strikes  rather  a  chill  to 
Lady  Lenore's  heart,  for  it  is  in  a  slightly  unsteady  voice 
that  she  replies :  "As  you  do  not  credit  my  words,  per- 
haps you  will  believe  this,"  handing  him  a  note  in  Lady 
Artrale's  handwriting.  This  confirms  what  has  already 
been  told  him,  and  at  the  end  of  it  are  the  words, 

"  I  wish  so  much  to  see  you,  if  only  for  a  short  while, 
and  nothing  will  please  me  better  than  to  have  you  come 
to  the  ball  to-night.  Pray  be  there,  just  to  please  your 
little  Artrale,  whom  you  will  recognize  by  repeating 
twice  the  word  Adelaide  to  the  lady  wearing  the  colors 
which  are  enclosed  in  my  letter.  But  on  speaking  to  me 
you  must  promise  to  call  me  by  the  name  of  'Adelaide.' 
Yours,  in  haste,  ARTRALE." 

De  Montford  pauses  as  he  finishes  reading  the  note, 
and  with  a  dark  look  at  Lenore  says,  brusquely,  "  I  sup- 
pose you  are  ready  to  corroborate  what  is  said  in  this 
letter P 

"  Yes,"  says  Lenore  bravely,  thinking  of  the  danger 
which  threatens  the  life's  happiness  of  her  sister. 

"  Then  come  with  me,  seek  out  your  sister  at  the  ball, 


224  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

you  will  know  her  dress  better  than  I,  and  bring  her  to 
me.  If  she  be  not  there  I  shall  return  without  delay  to 
her  father's  house  and  demand  fulfilment  of  her  promise. 
Will  you  come  now  f 

Lenore  grew  paler  under  the  moonlight,  which  was 
now  bright,  and  hesitated,  as  if  these  may  have  been  her 
thoughts :  How  can  she  save  Artrale  ?  What  shall  she 
say  to  this  man  who  is  so  sternly  bent  upon  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  her  sistei's  present  joy  and  happiness?  What 
would  her  fiance  say  to  find  that  his  future  bride  had 
promised  towed  another,  had  even  now  arranged  to  meet 
him  upon  the  very  eve  of  her  wedding  day?  The  in- 
timacy so  lightly  begun,  the  intrigue  so  thoughtlessly 
entered  into  by  her  careless  sister,  where  had  it  brought 
her?  And  then  the  proofs,  her  letters,  were  still  in  De 
Montford's  hands  !  The  next  moment  she  had  made  a 
desperate  resolve. 

Seeing  her  falter,  De  Montford  coldly  lifts  his  hat 
and  advances  towards  the  house.  "  I  will  come,"  she 
says ;  and  he  turns,  upon  hearing  her  voice. 

"  So  you  are  ready  to  answer  for  the  truth  of  this 
letter  ?  Then  come,  we  lose  time,"  and  he  hands  her  into 
his  waiting  carriage  which  is  driven  rapidly  away. 

As  they  drove  off  I  stepped  from  out  of  the  shadow ; 
an  overpowering  curiosity,  mingled  with  a  desire  to  be 
on  hand  if  my  respected  Lady  Lenore  should  require  my 
help,  impelled  me  to  follow  them.  I  never  had  much 
hard  cash  in  those  days,  but  what  little  I  had  went  to 
hire  a  horse  and  light  wagon,  and  in  a  short  time  I  too 
was  on  the  road  leading  to  the  Firs.  Arriving  there, 
after  some  little  delay,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  tracing 
De  Montford,  whom  I  saw  in  earnest  conversation  with 


BRAVE  LITTLE  HEART.  225 

a  beautifully  robed  lady ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  the  fol- 
lowing events,  as  I  learned  afterwards,  had  been  happen- 
ing: 

Lady  Lenore,  on  arriving  at  the  Firs,  had  at  once 
hastened  to  the  dressing-rooms,  where,  by  the  means  of 
some  judicious  bribery,  she  had  been  enabled  to  robe 
herself  in  the  disguise  of  a  monk's  cloak  and  hood  ;  and, 
with  the  latter  well  drawn  over  her  face,  to  escape  recog- 
nition, she  joins  De  Montford  in  the  shrubbery;  and, 
leading  him  to  one  of  the  ball-room  windows,  which  is 
left  invitingly  open,  to  give  air  to  the  crowded  rooms, 
tells  him  to  stand  in  the  shadow  of  the  palms  and  ferns 
which  decorate  this  egress  to  the  garden,  and  she  will 
send  Artrale  to  him.  She  plunges  in  among  the  crowd 
of  dominoes.  Having  gained  the  greatest  crush  of  the 
dancing-room,  she  exclaims,  in  a  loud,  well-heard  whis- 
per, "Adelaide!  Adelaide!"  but  nothing  comes  of  her 
little  ruse,  and  going  still  farther  in  the  crowd  she  re- 
peats it.  This  time  it  was  crowned  with  the  following 
success :  A  lady,  clad  in  the  most  delicate  shade  of 
lavender,  trimmed  with  a  richer,  deeper  purple  shade, 
tinged  here  and  there  with  red,  impersonating  "  clouds 
at  sunset,"  turns  quickly  towards  what  she  imagines  to 
be  the  form  of  the  man  who  had  challenged  Adelaide. 

"What  will  you  with  Adelaide?"  she  murmurs  as 
softly  as  music  from  the  harp-strings. 

"That  Adelaide  will  follow  me,"  says  the  unknown, 
still  in  a  whisper,  and  presenting  her  his  arm  he  leads, 
the  way  through  the  crowded  rooms  to  the  open  windows 
by  which  De  Montford  stands  expectant. 

During  their  progress  through  the  crush  the  monk 
has,  unseen  by  his  companion,  managed  to  fasten  to  her 


226  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

shoulder  a  knot  of  ribbons  similar  in  color  to  those  which 
had  been  enclosed  to  De  Moutford  in  Artrale's  fictitious 
letter,  and,  with  a  sign  in  the  direction  of  De  Moutford, 
the  monk  bends  towards  her  and  whispers  : 

"  A  devoted  slave  of  yours,  he,  and  longs  to  lay  his 
heart  at  your  feet,"  and  so  saying,  disappears. 

"  This  rather  amuses  me.  I  must  carry  on  the  farce," 
thinks  Adelaide.  "  But  my  voice  may  not  answer  unless, 
indeed,  I  have  so  hoarse  a  throat  as  to  have  it  unrecog- 
nizable for  that  of  any  particular  person.  Yes,  I  shall 
have  the  influenza,  and  that  very  severely."  In  the  con- 
versation that  follows  she  delights  her  adorer  every  short 
while  with  a  mournful  frog-like  croak,  which,  notwith- 
standing its  beauty,  elicits  great  sympathy  on  his  part. 

De  Montford,  standing  outside  the  windows,  had  begun 
to  doubt  whether  he  was  not  on  a  fool's  errand,  and  had 
repeated  in  his  thoughts  many  unspellable,  naughty 
words,  when,  suddenly  catching  sight  of  the  knot  of 
colors  similar  to  those  he  wears,  he  springs  forward  with 
the  challenge,  "Adelaide!  Adelaide!"  and  this  being, 
to  his  delight  and  surprise,  answered  as  he  had  hoped 
for,  he  had  straightway  poured  a  volume  of  impas- 
sioned words  into  his  companion's  ear.  The  lady  in 
question  is  rather  dazed  at  first  by  the  fervor  and  (to 
her)  incoherency  of  his  earnest  pleading  but  entering 
into  the  spirit  of  what  she  considers  "  an  intrigue  en- 
tirely worthy  of  a  masquerade,"  she  appoints  a  spot  in 
the  grounds  to  meet  the  "  unknown,"  as  she  terms  her 
ardent  admirer. 

The  rendezvous  is  to  be  at  midnight,  and  on  her  way 
back  to  the  cloak  room  for  a  wrap  she  meets  a  friend  to 
whom  she  divulges  the  little  plot. 


BRAVE  LITTLE  HEART.  227 

"  If  you  want  to  be  amused,  my  dear,"  she  says  to 
that  young  lady,  "  come  with  me." 

"  Where  do  you  propose  to  go  f  asks  her  friend,  Lady 
Muriel,  cautiously. 

"  To  the  vicarage,  dear." 

"  This  cold  night,  and  why  f ' 

"  To  be  married,  of  course,"  laughs  Adelaide.  "  You 
may  scarcely  believe  it,  but  I  have  an  admirer  whom  I 
never  discovered  before." 

"  And  his  name  ?  I  fear  you  are  very  wild,  Adelaide," 
says  her  friend,  laughing  also. 

"  That  I  shall  find  out  in  goodtime.  Bet  you  half  a 
cookie  he  never  finds  out  my  name,  though.  Wild,  you 
say  ?  What  can  I  do,  dear,  if  the  poor,  crazy  fellow  is 
so  deeply  enamoured  ?  The  unhappy  man  is  awfully  in 
earnest,  and  would  think  nothing  of  shooting  himself, 
and  me  in  the  bargain,  if  I  did  not  consent  on  the  in- 
stant. He  wants  to  be  married  just  here  to-night. 
Nothing  else  will  please  him,  and  to  fall  in  with  his 
humor  I  intend  to  go  through  with  the  ceremony,  so 
here  goes.  Come  along  and  see  me  married,  dear,"  she 
says,  with  a  dry  humor  and  gleam  of  mischief  in  her 
eyes  that  fairly  startles  her  companion. 

"  But  your  husband !"  she  gasps,  although  at  the  same 
time  she  is  intensely  amused  at  this  wild  project. 

"Dear  Cupid  is  at  this  moment  vastly  enjoying  him- 
self in  his  way,  and  1  can't  see  why  I  mayn't  have  a 
little  fun  on  my  own  account.  He  is  now  discussing 
ortolans,  surrounded  by  some  of  the  prettiest  and  most 
rapid  of  our  beauties,  and  I  am  sure  not  even  the  an- 
nouncement that  his  wife  has  eloped  with  a  dark  un- 
known would  for  one  moment  trouble  his  digestion,  or 


228  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

interrupt  his  little  amours  with  the  fair  ladies  who  con- 
stitute his  court.  No  !  I  mean  to  see  this  through,  as  I 
believe  the  whole  thing  will  prove  vastly  entertaining, 
and  my  being  already  married  adds  a  piquant  flavor  to 
the  romance." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  of  being  recognized  ?"  suggests 
her  friend,  who  is  evidently  more  cautious  than  herself. 

"  Do  you  think  it  possible  to  recognize  me  for  any  par- 
ticular person  ?"  she  cries,  removing  her  domino  and 
displaying  a  head  and  cheeks  swathed  to  the  very  eyes 
in  cotton  wool.  "  It  is  fearful  to  be  growing  old,  but  I 
must  only  bear  it,  and  fight  my  hardest  against  cold, 
cough,  influenza,  sore  throat,  bronchitis,  and  rapid  con- 
sumption, all  of  which  I  am  at  present  suffering  from. 
However,  before  the  night  is  out  I  intend  getting  some 
of  Uriah  Lewi's  sarsaparilla,  and  I  shall  be  instantly 
cured  of  everything." 

The  young  lady  evidently  seems  impressed  with  her 
friend's  capabilities  as  an  actress,  for  she  makes  no  fur- 
ther remonstrance.  They  both  depart  together  to  find 
the  gentleman  of  the  colors  at  the  appointed  place  of 
meeting. 

He  is  there  in  waiting,  and  hurries  them  off  to  the 
vicarage  close  by,  where  a  hasty  ceremony  is  performed 
without  interruption,  save  for  an  occasional  little  giggle 
from  the  heavily  veiled  bride. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  service  the  wheels  of  a  car- 
riage are  heard  on  the  road  outside,  and  De  Montford, 
looking  at  his  watch,  exclaims: 

"It  is  even  later  than  I  thought 5  I  must  leave  you 
now,  my  darling,  but  shall  come  to  claim  my  own  within 
two  days."  Then  he  would  have  lifted  the  veil  which 


BRA  VE  LITTLE  HEART.  ^2 

shrouded  the  face  of  his  new-made  bride,  but  she  drew 
back  with  a  little  scream  and  gesture  of  refusal,  and  evi- 
dently wished  to  avoid  a  caress. 

"Always  wilful,  he  whispers,  but  the  next  time  we 
meet  you  will  give  me  what  you  deny  me  now." 

"  Not  wilful,  dearest,"  replies  in  hoarse  tones  the  happy 
bride,  "  but  it  is  my  neuralgia,  which  is  so  painful  that 
to  have  my  head  touched  is  torture  indeed,  dearest;  but 
all  that  will  be  for  next  time,  as  you  say."  However,  he 
cannot  part  without  some  kind  of  caress,  and  pressing 
his  lips  tenderly  to  her  uncovered  brow,  he  whispers, 
with  infinite  compassion,  "You  are  in  pain,  dearest! 
how  I  wish  I  could  stay  to  alleviate  your  sufferings." 
So  saying  he  jumps  into  his  carriage  and  cries  to  the 
coachman,  "To  the  nearest  station — like  lightning!" 
and  is  gone  after  having  signed  his  name  to  the  marriage 
papers.  In  the  meantime  the  name 'of  Lenore  Allesmere 
had  been  written  down  by  that  lady  herself  as  a  sub- 
stitution for  that  of  the  bride,  while  Adelaide  had  glided 
from  the  room.  This  substitution  of  signatures  being 
unnoticed  by  the  clergyman  in  the  confusion  of  the 
bridegroom's  departure,  the  reverend  gentleman  pro- 
ceeds to  exhort  the  bride  to  be  a  dutiful  and  loving  wife, 
and  promises  to  forward  the  certificate  of  her  marriage 
within  a  few  days. 

Her  reply  rather  staggers  him.  "  Do  not  trouble,  the 
certificate  will  be  valueless  to  me." 

"  Ah !"  he  says  in  great  surprise.  "  Evidently  you  are 
very  young  and  inexperienced  or  you  would  know  the 
worth  of  a  marriage  certificate !" 

"You  can  keep  it  then  until  I  want  it,  since  it  may 
prove  more  valuable  than  I  had  thought !"  and,  with 


230  HER  PLAYTHINGS,    MEN. 

many  thanks  to  the  good  minister,  the  rather  hilarious 
bride  and  her  chaperoning  friend  take  their  departure 
back  to  the  ball-room,  to  indulge  in  Levies  sarsaparilla  to 
cure  her  cough,  cold,  etc. 

Lady  Lenore,  whom  I  had  not  once  lost  sight  of  during 
all  this  time,  seeing  that  her  sister's  future  happiness 
was  at  last  quite  safe,  suffered  me  to  escort  her  on  her 
homeward  way.  The  Hall  gates  at  Eavenstone  being 
now  closed,  however,  I  invited  her  to  take  shelter  in  my 
mother's  cottage,  which  she  accepted,  and  was  kind 
enough  to  return  to  for  several  nights  following  upon 
the  ball  at  the  Firs. 

"And  behind  all  this  mummery,  who  was  the  bride  f 
bursts  in  De  Montford  savagely. 

"Adelaide,  Marchioness  of  Eipdale,"  says  the  silvery 
tones  of  that  young  and  beautiful  and  thoroughly  im- 
prudent peeress.  "You  were  cheated  in  a  bride,  De 
Montford.  Ha  !  ha  1"  But  in  the  mean  time  the  young 
stranger  points  to  where  Lenore  has  disappeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  station-master's  cottage,  and  says,  in  a 
voice  that  trembles  with  emotion : 

"  She  saved  her  sister  with  no  thought  of  self  in  her 
young  heart,  and  to-day  you  have  seen  her  dead  in  her 
youth  and  loveliness — at  rest  at  last,  brave  little  heart !" 

As  the  young  man  finishes  his  recital  Eoanwood 
Offmgton  omes  forward,  however,  and  astonishes  him, 
for  he  wrings  his  hand  warmly,  almost  to  the  point  of 
dislocation  of  the  bones. 

"  To  you  I  owe  my  most  earnest  thanks ;  you  have 
given  me  a  very  beautiful,  peerless  bride.  In  that  cot- 
tage yonder  Leuore  still  breathes,  and  in  my  arms  but  a 


BRA  VE  LITTLE  HEART.  231 

moment  ago  she  justified  my  thanking  you  for  your  de- 
votion. Friends  till  death,  old  fellow,  and  may  I  have 
the  chance  of  doing  as  much  for  you  as  you  have  for  me." 

During  this  little  announcement  Kutland  Borradale 
has  been,  to  Murray  Cresenworth's  evident  dissatisfac- 
tion, hovering  around  his  goddess,  and  is  very  unhappy 
that  he  cannot  soothe  the  apparent  misery  depicted  on 
her  ordinarily  bright  riante  face :  in  his  soul  it  must 
be  said  he  curses  the  erstwhile  husband  who  did  not 
know  how  to  appreciate  the  adorable  being  he  had  won 
for  his  wife.  While  Cresenworth,  now  more  unwilling 
than  ever  to  resign  the  beautiful  prize  which  is  slipping 
from,  his  grasp — especially  when  he  sees  that  the  jewel 
of  untold  price,  which  he  has  spurned,  is  likely  to  be- 
come the  property  of  another,  strikes  a  bold  stroke  on 
his  last  stake  and — loses. 

While  for  a  moment  Borradale  is  out  of  ear-shot,  he 
catches  sight  of  Elra  standing  a  little  apart  from  the 
others,  with  her  shapely  head  resting  against  the  glossy 
shoulder  of  her  horse,  and  in  her  eyes  he  sees  there  is  a 
wistful  look,  as  of  a  dumb  animal  in  pain.  "  Can  she 
then  know  ?  Has  she  heard  all  f '  thinks  Murray,  and 
bending  swiftly  towards  her,  he  but  dares  to  whisper 
the  one  word  "  Elra !"  in  a  tone  so  abject  that  she  could 
not  help  but  pity  him,  u  Elra  !"  he  repeats,  seeing  she 
is  silent,  "  have  you  no  word  for  me  F 

"  You  forget  Miss  Brookley,"  she  says,  in  such  meas- 
ured, cold  tones  that  his  hopes  go  down  with  a  rush. 

"  Never  that  for  me,"  he  says,  passionately.  "  Elra, 
give  me  one  word  of  forgiveness,  of  command,  of  per- 
mission to  protect  your  name,  to  reinstate  it  where  is 
properly  its  place,  among  those  of  noble  women — as  I 


232  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

unfortunately  alone  can  do  it — and  it  shall  be  done  with 
my  dying  breath." 

But  she  turns  away  with  scorn  on  her  parted  lips. 
"All  England,"  she  says,  "has  been  this  morning  ad  vised 
of  my — my  crime." 

On  catching  her  words  a  cold  moisture  breaks  over 
Cresenworth's  forehead  and  the  thought  strikes  him  that 
the  events  of  yesterday,  followed  by  a  harrowing,  sleep- 
less night,  and  clinched  by  what  had  very  nearly  proyed 
the  tragedy  of  the  morning,  have  been  too  much  for  him, 
and,  with  his  hand  to  his  side,  he  staggers  for  support 
against  her  horse. 

"  Come  away,  darling,"  tenderly  whispers  Borradale  to 
her  at  this  moment,  but  Creseuwortb,  with  all  the  dogged 
determination  of  a  man  who  has  never  been  beaten  be- 
fore in  his  life,  comes  quickly  to  her  side. 

"  Elra,  stay  and  hear  me  !"  but  here  he  gasps,  for  a 
terrible  pain  has  shot  through  his  heart.  "  I  feel  I  am 
going;  Elra  it  is  in  death's  agony  that  I  entreat  you 
to  be  mine  once  more,  my  honored  wife  !"  One  look  he 
cast  at  her  pale,  cold  brow,  one  piteous  look,  as  might  a 
dog  who  was  suffering  death  at  the  hand  of  its  loved 
master,  and  ere  her  glorious  eyes  could  soften,  ere  a  word 
of  gentle  womanly  love  could  tremble  on  her  lips,  time 
has  slipped  into  eternity,  and  fear,  love,  hate  mocked  at 
her — for  Murray  Cresenworth,  with  a  long,  long  shiver 
of  agony,  a  stagger  and  a  groan,  stretched  himself  dead 
at  her  feet ! 

"  Courage !"  says  Kntland  Borradale,  tenderly  support- 
ing Elra  Cresenworth's  form  ere  she  totters  against  her 
horse.  "  My  wife!  my  darling !  now,  forever ;"  but  weak- 
ened though  she  be,  she  recoils  in  horror  from  his  touch. 


BRA  VE  LITTLE  HEART.  233 

"Never!"  she  cries,  pointing  to  her  husband's  form 
stretched  stark  at  her  feet.  "  It  is  by  your  hand  he  lies 
there — " 

"Murdered,  she  would  say,"  and  turning  quickly  Bor- 
radale  beholds  the  flashing  triumphant  eyes  of  Adelaide, 
Marchioness  of  Ripdale. 

"  You  will  never  own  her,"  she  pursues,  maliciously. 
It  was  the  shot  sent  home  so  straight  by  you  that  has 
killed  him,  and  she  will  not  marry  his  mur — 

"Adelaide!"  he  cries,  savagely  eying  the  beautiful 
woman  he  has  once  loved ;  but  in  a  moment  he  is  calm 
again  and  master  of  the  situation. 

"  That  will  not  prevent  me  from  giving  her  my  heart's 
adoration  and  love  to  my  dying  day." 

"  Oh,  my  God !"  comes  in  a  moan  from  Elra's  lips, 
while  Adelaide  looks  on  with  a  rather  disdainful  shrug 
of  her  shoulders.  

"Are  you  Mrs.  Cresenworth,  madam  ?" 

"  Yes,"  says  that  lady,  rather  startled,  as  she  turns  to 
the  speaker,  who  proves  to  be  a  youth  of  some  eighteen 
summers,  who  had  but  a  moment  ago  arrived  on  the 
scene. 

"  Then,  ma'am,  I've  been  charged  to  deliver  you  this 
note  from  Clarkson,  Eyfe  &  Clarkson,  and  to  explain  to 
you,  in  case  you  don't  fully  catch  its  meaning,  that  there 
was  no  divorce  granted  yesterday  in  your  case.  There 
was,  it  is  true,  one  given  between  a  certain  Mr.  Gresel- 
wirth  and  his  wife,  one  of  whom  is  a  client  of  your 
lawyers,  and  Mr.  Eyfe,  who  had  prosecuted  the  case, 
being  unable  to  get  back  from  court  to  the  office,  wired 
word  to  the  effect : 


234  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

"  i  Greselwirth's  divorce  granted,  2.59  ;  advise  him  and 
wife  immediately — RYFE.' 

"The  name,  transmitted  in  a  hurry,  read  wrong,  and 
thus  the  mistake  which  you  know  of  occurred." 

"  You  have  said  enough,"  Elra  answers  faintly,  "  you 
have  come  too  late;  my  husband  is  beyond  learning  of 
what  has  been  done." 

For  the  physician,  having  been  called  from  the  side  of 
Lady  Leuore,  has  officially  pronounced  Murray  Cresen- 
worth  to  be  dead.  The  old  shot- wound  he  had  received 
on  his  wedding  morning  had  come  against  him  at  last, 
causing  a  very  sudden  failure  of  the  heart. 


"  Here  comes  your  train,  De  Montford/'says  the  much 
injured  Marquis  of  Eipdale,  touching  that  worthy  briskly 
on  the  shoulder,  "  and  if  in  six  hours  " — taking  out  his 
watch  and  looking  determined — "  you  are  not  off  English 
territory  you  will  be  arrested  for — what — you  yourself 
best  know.  Go  or  stay,  as  best  suits  yourself  and  that 
praiseworthy  banking  scheme  of  yours." 

"Bluster,  my  lord,  mere  bluster!"  says  De  Montford 
with  a  proud  curl  of  his  lip,  "  but  you  will  find  I  am  no 
coward,  and  here  I  stay  as  long  as  it  suits  me  to  remain 
where  I  am,  indifferent  to  bullying  from  peer  or  pauper." 

"  Then  you  are  prepared  to  answer  a  charge  of  forgery 
substantiated  by  this  paper,  which  you  will  easily  recog- 
nize, as  it  was  stolen  by  you  from  the  vest-pocket  of  the 
man  whom  you  shot  almost  to  death  for  that  express  end 
two  years  ago — Murray  Cresenworth — and  whose  death 
now  lies,  without  a  doubt,  at  your  door." 

The  marquis  holds  in  his  hand  the  while  a  piece  of 
blood- stained  paper,  torn  at  one  edge — the  very  one 


BRA  VE  LITTLE  HEART.  235 

which  Daddy  Dolan  had  carried  from  her  fortress  of  ref- 
uge under  the  Athelhurst  china  cabinet,  and  which  she 
had  afterwards  sold  at  what  she  considered  a  "  skinning 
bargain "  to  a  stranger  who  had  been  kind  to  her,  but 
whom  she  had  considered  afflicted  with  lunacy. 

De  Montford,  when  he  sees  the  paper,  grows  cold  and 
very  white,  but  he  is  no  coward,  and  though  he  stands  in 
imminent  danger  he  feels  he  has  ground  for  some  hope ;  he 
knows  that  a  peer  of  the  realm  will  sacrifice  an  amount 
of  rancor  rather  than  have  his  wife's  folly  arid  impru- 
dence aired  in  court — which  must  eventually  be  the  case 
in  this  matter  of  his  forgery — therefore  he  feels  reassured. 

With  a  muttered  imprecation,  and  the  words  "the 
banking  scheme  must  go  to  the  dogs  1"  seeing  he  has 
met  his  master,  De  Moutford  does  what  many  a  bigger 
villain  has  done  before  him,  in  similar  circumstances,  i.e., 
slips  into  the  train  and  gets  quietly  out  of  the  way. 


'23Q  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MOONLIGHT   ON   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

It's  no  use  denying  it,  Fortune  is  a  fickle  jade! 

During  the  early  days  of  his  passion  for  Mrs.  Eldmere 
Sir  Gregory  had  never  doubted  of  the  ultimate  success  of 
his  suit,  and  he  h&,^  begun  even  to  hope  he  was  making 
advances  in  the  lady's  favor,  when,  through  the  untime- 
ly advent  of  Mr.  Cresenworth,  he  found  himself  "com- 
pletely knocked  out,"  as  he  described  it;  and  as  a  solace 
for  his  blighted  affection  the  worthy  baronet  betook  him- 
self to  hard  riding  and  hard  drinking,  hoping  to  find  con- 
solation in  the  deep  and  flowing  bowl ! 

One  evening  when  riding  home  with  his  friend  the  Earl 
of  Darcliffe  (who  is  himself  a  black  sheep  and  a  boon 
companion  of  the  baronet),  after  a  good  day's  racing  and 
many  pints  of  sparkling  champagne,  they  reach  the 
Manor-house  at  a  late  hour,  and  Sir  Gregory  insists 
upon  his  friend  accepting  his  hospitality  for  that  night 
at  least. 

"  Come  in,  old  fellow,"  he  says  with  a  boisterous  laugh ; 
"  don't  refuse  a  good  thing  !  I  can  give  you  such  a  bowl 
of  punch  as  you  never  tasted  before ;"  and  as  the  earl, 
who  is  also  rather  the  worse  for  what  he  has  imbibed, 
willingly  assents,  the  two  men  turn  in  at  the  gates  and 
gallop  up  the  avenue.  Just  before  reaching  their  front 
door  Sir  Gregory's  horse  shies  violently  at  some  object 
on  the  road,  and  lands  his  master  in  the  middle  of  a 


MOONLIGHT  ON  THE  MOUNTAINS.  237 

flower-bed  at  one  side  of  the  carriage  sweep.  This  com- 
pletely sobers  that  gentleman,  who  picks  himself  up  with 
many  groans  and  bad  words,  and  then  goes  to  see  what 
the  object  may  be  that  can  have  so  startled  his  tired 
horse — who,  to  his  knowledge,  has  never  done  such  a 
thing  before,  and  who  is  warranted  to  stand  firm  at  a 
cannon,  or  a  threshing-machine,  or  any  other  foe  to 
equine  nerves. 

What  he  finds  is  a  child's  wheelbarrow,  full  of  white 
sand,  into  which  is  stuck  a  goodly  array  of  paper 
flags,  and  which  has  evidently  been  used  by  the  chil- 
dren in  some  military  demonstration.  This  formidable 
obstruction  is  planted  full  in  the  middle  of  the  carriage 
drive.  Sir  Gregory  silently  curses  Mrs.  Dolan  and  her 
family  as  he  rubs  his  shins,  and  explains  to  his  friend 
that  he  is  not  hurt,  only  bruised. 

"  Confound  those  brats!"  he  mutters  as  they  enter  the 
house,  and  then  he  takes  his  friend  off  to  his  own  par- 
ticular den,  where  we  will  leave  them  to  "make  a  night 
of  it." 

As  the  result  of  the  latter  festivity,  Sir  Gregory  wakes 
next  day  in  a  particularly  bad  frame  of  mind  ;  and,  as  he 
slowly  dresses,  he  thinks  of  the  wheelbarrow  of  the  pre- 
vious night,  and  resolves  to  go  down  and  give  Mrs. 
Dolan  a  gentle  reminder,  both  as  to  the  breakfast  for 
himself  and  friend,  and  the  desirability  of  keeping  the 
little  Dolans  out  of  his  and  his  horse's  way.  He  has 
worked  himself  up  to  a  proper  state  of  mind  in  which  to 
deliver  the  lecture ;  but,  on  his  appearing  at  the  head 
of  the  stairway  leading  to  the  hall,  his  anger  is  changed 
into  speechless  indignation.  Mrs.  Dolan,  who  is  usually 
the  most  untidy  and  dirty  of  mortals,  with  a  holy  horror 


238  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

of  water  and  brushes,  has  apparently  changed  in  this 
respect,  for  the  hall  is  now  at  least  two  inches  deep  in 
water,  while  the  young  Dolans,  with  shrieks  of  delight, 
are  engaged  in  swimming  boats,  and  upsetting  pails, 
and  other  diversions.  At  the  sight  of  their  master  they 
turn  and  fly,  and  he  picks  his  way  across  the  wet  hall  to 
reach  the  shelter  of  the  dining-room.  Here,  too,  all  is  in 
confusion.  The  carpet  is  rolled  up,  the  furniture  is  tied 
and  bandaged,  and  even  the  mirror  and  pictures  are 
swathed  in  yellow  gauze. 

"  What  the  devil  does  all  this  mean  I"  roars  Sir  Greg- 
ory, in  a  fury,  as  he  rings  the  bell  violently  and  swears 
in  audible  tones.  "  Where  is  that  woman  ?" 

"  Do  you  allude  to  me,  sir  ?"  says  Mrs.  Dolan,  appear- 
ing in  the  doorway,  clad  in  a  costume  that  would  have 
delighted  the  baronet  at  any  other  time,  but  which  now 
exasperates  him  all  the  more. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  turning  my  house  topsy-turvy 
like  this  ?"  he  cries.  "  Are  you  mad  ?  You  look  it,  I'm 
sure  1" 

Mrs.  Dolan,  who  is  attired  in  a  short  gown  of  doubtful 
color,  well  drawn  up  to  escape  the  wet,  thus  showing  a 
generous  display  of  ankles,  a  calico  jacket,  and  with  her 
head  tied  up  in  a  duster,  and  a  large  feather -broom 
in  her  hand,  looks  more  like  an  Indian  squaw  than  a 
respectable  house  servant.  But  there  is  the  fire  of  de- 
termination in  her  eye,  and  a  toss  of  her  head  shows  her 
master  that  she  means  mischief.  - 

"Sure  it's  yourself  that's  mad,"  she  says  in  reply,  "  to 
take  objections  to  the  cleaning.  It's  little  enough  the 
house  ever  sees,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  all  the  better 
for  a  touch  of  soap  and  water.  Sure  it's  me  that  should 


MOONLIGHT  ON  THE  MOUNTAINS.  239 

complain  at  the  extra  work  and  not  yourself.  What 
with  your  friends  to  stay,  and  your  late  suppers  and 
early  breakfasts,  I  declare  I'm  worn  to  a  thread  al- 
ready." 

"That  will  do,  woman  !"  roars  Sir  Gregory.  "You 
may  pack  up  bag  and  baggage  and  leave  my  house  at 
the  end  of  the  month — do  you  hear?  Dolan  can  stay  if 
he  has  a  mind  to,  but  I  will  not  stand  another  hour  of 
this — so  now  you  know.  Take  down  all  this  rubbish, 
cart  away  all  your  pails  and  brushes,  and  have  break- 
fast ready  for  us  in  half  an  hour." 

Mrs.  Dolan  sees  that  her  master  is  in  earnest,  and  re- 
tires precipitately  to  do  his  bidding  and  revenge  her- 
self by  falling  upon  her  husband  and  giving  him  the 
greatest  "  talking  lo"  he  has  had  for  many  a  day;  but 
the  breakfast-table  is  ready  at  the  hour  Sir  Gregory 
mentions,  and  when  the  Earl  of  Darcliffe  makes  his  ap- 
pearance all  signs  of  house  cleaning  have  disappeared 
for  good. 

After  the  meal  the  earl  takes  his  leave,  and  Sir  Greg- 
ory, who  has  been  silent  and  taciturn  all  the  morning, 
brooding  over  his  wrongs,  accompanies  him  to  the  sta- 
tion, and  then  turns  his  horses'  heads  towards  the 
Nest.  Calling  in  there  he  asks  for  Miss  de  la  Koche, 
and  is  ushered  into  that  young  lady's  presence. 

"  How  delighted  I  am  to  see  you,  Sir  Gregory,"  cries 
Maudie,  with  eyes  of  great  astonishment  at  the  early 
visit;  for  since  Sir  Gregory's  infatuation  for  Mrs.  Eld- 
mere  Miss  Maudie  had  been  entirely  neglected  by  the 
baronet.  "  Mamma  is  not  up  yet,  she  has  been  suffering 
much  lately,  but  I  will  let  her  know  that  you  are  here." 

"  Pray  don't  do  that,  my  dear  young  lady,"  says  Sir 


240  HER  PLA  YTIIINGS,   MEN. 

Gregory  earnestly.  I  came  to  speak  to  you,  and  am  glad 
to  find  you  alone,  and  forthwith  the  baronet  goes  on 
to  relate  that  his  domestic  happiness  is  so  imperilled  by 
the  aggravations  of  his  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Dolan,  that 
he  has  come  to  ask  Maudie  to  be  his  protectress — and 
his  wife. 

The  unexpected  news  is  almost  too  much  for  poor 
Maudie,  who  sighs  and  blushes  with  delightful  embar- 
rassment as  she  says,  with  a  little  smirk,  "  Dear  Greg- 
ory !  how  did  you  find  out  that  I  loved  you  all  along  F 
And  to  this  the  baronet  wisely  answers  nothing,  though 
he  sighs  as  he  thinks  of  Mrs.  Eldmere  and  her  beauty, 
even  as  he  presses  his  new  fiancee's  fat  little  hand  to  his 
lips  in  a  lover's  first  caress.  "  It  had  to  be,"  he  murmurs  to 
himself,  "  I  couldn't  stand  that  woman  any  longer."  And 
thus  it  was  that  Maudie  wooed  and  won  Sir  Gregory  at 
last,  and  despite  even  her  envious  sisters  Odile  and  Pau- 
line— who  had  flown  to  England  on  hearing  the  happy 
news,  to  do  all  the  mischief  they  could — became  the  happy 
bride  of  a  comfortable  English  baronet,  who  could  actu- 
ally hear,  see,  and  speak  like  most  of  us. 


It  is  a  lovely  summer  night;  a  bright  moon  sheds  its 
lustre  upon  the  landscape,  sometimes  disappearing  be- 
hind a  fleecy  cloud  or  snow-clad  peak,  at  others  shining 
in  dazzling  splendor  upon  the  wooded  valley  beneath, 
and  lighting  up  the  tiny  villages  that  lie  nestling  in  the 
heart  of  the  Bernese  Oberlaud,  now  quiet  and  hushed 
in  sleep.  A  gay  party  is  assembled  on  the  mountain's 
brow,  and  bright  talk  and  merry  laughter  fills  the  air, 
for  they  are  waiting  with  some  impatience  for  thefiist 
sounds  of  the  distant  bugle  blast,  which  was  to  acquaint 


MOONLIGHT  ON  THE  MOUNTAINS.  241 

them  with  the  famous  echo  of  this  region  ;  an  attraction 
of  this  lovely  spot  which  the  travellers  had  come  to  hear, 
at  this  hour  of  the  night,  thus  adding  a  strange  charm  to 
the  beauty  of  the  scene. 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  rest  stand  two  figures,  who, 
though  alone  and  in  silence,  appear  to  be  well  content 
to  have  their  solitude  thus  undisturbed.  They,  too, 
are  listening  for  the  first  faint  sounds  of  the  distant 
horn. 

Presently  the  lady  moves  away  from  her  companion, 
and,  going  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  peers  down  into 
the  darkness  beneath.  Her  light  figure  stands  poised 
there  but  for  a  moment,  for  the  gentleman  advances,  and, 
throwing  a  protecting  arm  around  her  waist,  leads  her 
back  to  higher  ground. 

"My  darling,  what  a  risk  to  run!"  he  says,  tender- 
ly, though  reproachfully,  gazing  at  the  beautiful  face. 
"  How  dare  you  ?  It  is  well  that  I  am  at  hand  to  pro- 
tect you,  and  I  suppose  you  will  now  admit  my  right  to 
shield  my  own  from  danger." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  must  own  you  for  my  lord  and  mas- 
ter," she  answers,  with  a  happy  little  laugh  ;  "but  it  is, 
I  assure  you,  a  most  unwilling  slavery.  However,  for  all 
that,  though  these  chains  are  constraining,'7  touching 
the  firm  arms  still  held  around  her,  "  I  do  not  care  yet  to 
break  them." 

"  I  would  not  attempt  it  if  I  were  you,"  he  says,  dryly. 
Then,  "My  own  Elra!"  he  murmurs  passionately,  and 
catching  her  to  his  heart,  he  kisses  the  lovely  lips  so  near 
his  own,  and  reads  all  the  love  and  tenderness  shining 
in  her  eyes  as  she  answers,  softly  : 

"  God  grant  us  happiness,  my  dearest  one!" 


242  HER  PLAYTHINGS,   MEN. 

And  then  the  first  faint  sounds  of  the  bugle  call 
steal  softly  through  the  valley,  ever  growing  louder, 
till  it  dies  in  a  gentle  murmur,  as  the  echo  repeats 
the  sound  of  its  toneSo 


THE  END. 


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"  Every  one  ought  to  own  a  dictionary," and  the  low  price   at  which  we  offer  this  edition 

places  it  within  the  reach  of  all.     It  is,  undoubtedly,  the  best  cheap  dictionary  made  ;  it  contains  all 
the  words  in  general  every-day  use,  with  their  most  standard  definitions  and  pronunciations. 

CRAIG  (A.R.,  M.A.).  YpUR  LUCK'S  IN  YOUR 
HAND  ;  or,  The  Science  of  Modern  Palmistry, 
with  some  Account  of  the  Gypsies.  Numerous 
illustrations.  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  extra,  $1.25. 

A  recent  revival  of  interest  in  this  fascinating  study  has  certainly  proven  the  fact  that  Prof. 
Craig's  Palmistry  is  the  most  complete  and  satisfactory  work  on  the  subject  extant — it  shows  the 
careful  work  of  a  master  hand.  Should  there  be  a  single  "doubting  Thomas"  who  does  not 
believe  "  your  luck's  in  your  hand,"  let  him  read  the  convincing  arguments  in  this  work  and  be 
converted. 

CYCLOPEDIA  OF  BIBLE  ILLUSTRA- 
TIONS, being  a  storehouse  of  Similes,  Allegories, 
and  Anecdotes.  Edited  by  Rev.  R.  Newton,  D.D. 
I2mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

A  treasury  of  spiritual  riches  borrowed  from  nature,  art,  history,  biography,  anecdote,  and 
simile,  by  Christian  authors  of  all  countries  and  ages.  A  book  full  of  wisdom  and  of  the  happiest 
illustrations  of  points  of  doctrine  and  morals. 


CYCLOPAEDIA  OF  THE  ARTS  AND 
SCIENCES :  Botany,  Zoology,  Mineralogy, 
Geology,  Astronomy,  Geometry,  Mathematics, 
Mechanics,  Electricity,  Chemistry,  etc.,  etc.  Illus- 
trated with  over  3,000  wood  engravings,  i  vol.,  4to, 
cloth  extra,  $6.00  ;  sheep,  $7.50;  or,  in  half  morocco 
extra,  $10.00. 

This  popular  Encyclopaedia  is  more  than  a  first-class  book  of  reference,  it  is  n  library  ot 
popular  scientific  treatises  each  one  complete  in  itself,  which  places  into  the  hands  of  the  reader 
the  means  to  procure  for  himself  a  thorough  technical  self-education.  The  several  topics  are 
handled  with  a  view  of  a  thorough  instruction  of  these  particular  branches  of  knowledge,  and 
all  statements  are  precise  and  scientifically  accurate. 

DANA  (R.  H.,  Jr.).  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast,  i 
vol.,  i2mo,  $1.50. 

One  of  the  most  fascinating  and  instructive  narratives  of  the  sea  ever  written  for  young  folks. 
The  reader's  sympathies  are  enlisted  with  the  hero  from  first  to  last,  but  the  hardships  and  hair- 
breadth escapes  he  meets  with  would  prevent  most  boys  from  emulating  his  example. 

DUFFERIN.— Letters  from  High  Latitudes.  A 
Yacht  Voyage  to  Ireland,  Jan  Mayen,  and  Spitz- 
bergen.  By  his  Excellency  the  Earl  of  Dufferin, 
Governor-General  of  the  Dominion  of  Canada. 
Authorized  edition.  With  portrait  and  several  illus- 
trations. 8vo,  cloth  extra,  $1.50. 

The  titled  author  has  given  us  in  this  work  a  narrative  of  a  voyage  replete  with  incident  in  the 
yacht  "  Foam."  His  impressions  of  the  countries  and  people  visited  in  the  far  North  are  written 
in  a  fresh  and  original  style,  in  the  purest  English,  and  the  account  of  the  whole  voyage  is  as 
pleasing  and  interesting  as  a  work  of  fiction. 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING'S 
POEMS. — The  most  satisfactory  American  edi- 
tion issued,  printed  from  excellent  type  on  paper  of 
superior  quality,  with  introductory  essay  by  Henry 
T.  Tuckerman.  3  vols.,  8vo,  gilt  tops,  $5.26  ;  half 
calf  extra,  $10.50. 

The  highest  place  among  modern  poetesses  must  be  claimed  for  Mrs.  Browning.  In  purity, 
loftiness  of  sentiment,  feeling  and  in  intellectual  power  she  is  excelled  only  by  Tennyson,  whose 
works  it  is  evident  she  had  carefully  studied.  Nearly  all  her  poems  bear  the  impress  of  deep 
and  sometimes  melancholy  thought,  but  show  a  high  and  fervid  imagination.  Her  Sonnets fram 
the  Portuguese,  are  as  passionate  as  Shakespeare's,  all  eminently  beautiful.  Of  her  Aurora  Leigh, 
Ruskin  said  "  that  is  the  greatest  poem  which  this  century  has  produced  in  any  language." 


FESTUS.— A  Poem  by  Philip  James  Bailey.  With 
choice  steel  plates,  by  Hammett  Billings.  Beau- 
tifully printed.  4to,  cloth,  gilt,  $3.00;  do.,  do.,  full 
gilt  and  gilt  edges,  $5.00. 

GAUTIER  (Theophile).  One  of  Cleopatra's  Nights 
and  Other  Fantastic  Stories.  Translated  from  the 
French  by  Lafcadio  Hearnv  8vo,  cloth  extra,  gilt 
top,  $1.75. 

A  brilliant  and  intensely  fascinating  collection  of  stories  from  the  pen  of  the  inimitable  Gautisr, 
they  are  excellent  specimens  of  his  work  in  his  brightest  and  happiest  vein  ;  the  scenes  are  auda- 
ciously limned,  and  distinguished  for  their  conscientious  fidelity  to  nature. 

GRAY. — The  works  of  Thomas  Gray,  in  Prose  and 
Verse.  Edited  by  Edmund  Goose,  Lecturer  of 
English  Literature  at  the  University  of  Cambridge. 
With  portraits,  fac-similes,  etc.  4  vols.,  crown  Svo, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $6.00  ;  half  calf,  $12.00. 

"  Every  lover  of  English  literature  will  welcome  the  works  of  Gray,  the  author  of  the  immortal 
'Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard,'  from  the  hands  of  an  editor  so  accomplished  as  Mr. 
Gosse.  His  competency  for  the  task  has  been  known  for  some  time  to  students  of  poetry,  and 
the  present  edition  is  now  considered  to  be  the  most  careful  and  complete  ever  published." — 
London  Athen&um. 

GUNNING  (William  D.).— Life  History  of  Our 
Planet.  Illustrated  with  80  illustrations  by  Mary 
Gunning.  Crown  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  extra,  $1.50. 

From  this  work,  more  so  than  any  other,  we  probably  gain  a  clearer  idea  of  the  almost 
incredible  changes  Nature  has  wrought  on  our  planet  and  still  more  wonderful  changes  we  may 
expect  in  the  future.  We  are  given  several  interesting  pai;es — with  illustrations — on  the  mammoth 
creatures  of  pre-historic  times,  whose  mummified  bones  alone  remain  to  tell  their  story.  It  should 
be  read  by  every  one  who  desires  to  know  more  about  the  world  we  live  in. 

HARDY  (Lady  Duffus).  Through  Cities  and  Prairie 
Lands.  A  most  interesting  book  of  Travels  in 
America,  i.vol.,  crown  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.75. 

Recollections  of  a  most  pleasant  trip  made  by  this  distinguished  lady  through  America.  She 
has  many  warm  words  for  the  kind  manner  in  which  she  was  treated,  and  altogether  the 
work  is  a  most  pleasingand  pronounced  contrast  to  the  average  hastily  written  English  impressions 
of  America. 

5 


HISTORY  AND  ANTIQUITIES  OF  FREE- 
MASONRY, as  Connected  with  Ancient  Norse 
Guilds,  and  the  Oriental  and  Mediaeval  Building 
Fraternities,  to  which  is  added  the  Legend  of  Prince 
Edward,  etc.,  by  George  F.  Fort.  A  New  Edition, 
i  vol.,  8vo,  $1.75. 

This  work  is  the  result  of  years  of  labor  on  the  part  cf  the  author,  whose  original  and  persistent 
design  has  been  to  arrive  at  the  truth,  and,  r.t  the  same  time,  supply  a  want  long  felt  by  members 
of  t»«  Masonic  Fraternity,  as  well  as  the  uninitiated.  That  he  has  fully  accomplished  his  purpose  is 
demonstrated  by  the  fact  that  it  is  now  looked  upon  as  the  most  standard  and  authentic  history  of 
Freemasonry  in  existence.  «» 

HOW  ?  or,  Spare  Hours  Made  Profitable  for  Boys 
and  Girls.  By  Kennedy  Holbrook.  Profusely 
illustrated  by  the  author.  8vo,  cloth,  gilt,  $2.00. 
do.,  do.,  full  gilt  extra,  $2.50. 

The  most  interesting  and  instructive  work  of  the  kind  ever  issued.  By  the  help  of  t'leir  plainly 
•worded  and  fully  illustrated  instructions,  any  bright  boy  or  girl  may  devise  unlimited  entertain- 
ment and  fashion  many  acceptable  and  useful  presents  for  playmates  and  friends.  The  directions 
are  for  working  with  wood,  paper,  chemicals  and  paints,  with  knife,  pencil,  brush  and  scissors,  and 
for  the  performance  of  sleight-of-hand  tricks. 

JERROLD  (Blanchard).  Days  with  Great  Authors. 
Dickens,  Scott,  Thackeray,  Douglas  Jerrold.  Se- 
lections from  their  Works,  and  Biographical  Sketches 
and  Personal  Reminiscences.  Numerous  illustra- 
tions. 8vo,  cloth,  gilt  extra,  $2.00. 

To  the  hosts  of  admirers  of  these  great  authors  this  work  will  prove  of  absorbing  interest,  as  it 
contains  many  reminiscences  never  before  in  print.  Considerable  space  has  also  been  devoted  to 
their  public  speeches,  and  short,  characteristic  selections  are  given  from  their  best  works. 

LA  FONTAINE'S  FABLES.— Translated  from 
the  French  by  Elizur  Wright,  Jr.  Illustrations  by 
Grandville.  Crown  8vo,  cloth  extra,  $1.50. 

La.  Fontaine's  Fables — there  is  magic  as  well  as  music  in  the  name  ;  they  have  been  deservedly 
popular  for  years,  and  they  will  be  read  with  ever  increas-ng  pleasure  by  young  and  old,  "  as  lnr:g 
as  the  world  rolls  round."  This  is  the  only  moderate  priced  translation  of  these  charming  fables 
published. 

LE  BRUN  (Madame  Vigee).— Souvenirs  of.  With 
a  steel  portrait,  from  an  original  painting  by  the 
author.  2  vols.  in  I,  crown  8vo,  red  cloth,  gilt 
top,  $1.75. 

"An  amusing  book,  which  contains  a  great  deal  that  is  new  and  strange,  and  many  anecdotes 
which  are  always  entertaining."  It  is  written  in  a  reminiscent  and  chatty  style,  and  relates  many 
"choice  tid-bits''  of  the  distinguished  historical  personages  with  whom  the  authoress  was  acquainted. 


LOUDpN'S  COTTAGE,  FARM  AND  VILLA 

Architecture  and  Furniture. — Containing  numerous 
Designs  for  Dwellings,  from  the  Villa  to  the  Cottage 
and  the  Farm,  each  design  accompanied  by  analyti- 
cal and  critical  remarks.  Illustrated  by  upwards  of 
2,000  engravings.  In  one  very  thick  vol.,  8vo,  $7.50. 

Ope  of  the  most  useful  books  on  architecture  ever  issued.  Gives  valuable  hints  to  anyone  con- 
templating building  either  villas,  cottages,  or  outhouses,  and  may  save  thoughtful  and  practical  men 
hundreds  of  dollars. 

MACAULAY'S  LAYS  of  Ancient  Rome.— With 
all  the  antique  illustrations  and  steel  portrait.  Beau- 
tifully printed.  4to,  cloth,  extra  gilt,  $3.50  ;  do.,  do., 
full  gilt  and  gilt  edges,  $5.00;  do.,  do.,  I2mo,  cloth 
extra,  $1.00. 

When  the  famous  historian  issued  these  lays,  which  have  since  become  classics,  it  was  a 
literary  surprise,  for  no  one  thought  that  he  was  also  a  poet  of  such  high  degree.  His  poetry  is  the 
rythmical  outflow  of  a  vigorous  and  affluent  writer,  given  to  splendor  of  diction,  and  imagery  in 
his  flowing  prose.  Stedman  said  of  this  volume,  "  the  lays  have  to  me  a  charm,  and  to  almost  every 
healthy  young  mind  are  an  immediate  delight." 

NAPOLEON. — Las  Cases'  Napoleon.  Memoirs  of 
the  Life,  Exile,  and  Conversations  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon.  By  the  Count  de  Las  Cases,  with  8 
steel  portraits,  maps,  and  illustrations.  4  vols.,  I2mo, 
400  pages  each,  cloth,  $5.00  ;  half  calf  extra,  $10.00. 

With  his  son  the  Count  devoted  himself  at  St.  Helena  to  the  care  of  the  Emperor  and  passed 
his  evenings  in  recording  his  remarks.  Commenting  in  a  letter  to  Lucian  Bonaparte  on  the 
treatment  to  which  Napoleon  was  subjected,  he  was  arrested  by  the  English  authorities  and  sent 
away  and  imprisoned. 

NAPOLEON.— O'Meara's  Napoleon  in  Exile;  or  A 
Voice  from  St.  Helena.  Opinions  and  Reflections 
of  Napoleon  on  the  Most  Important  Events  in  his 
Life  and  Government  in  his  own  words.  By  Barry 
E.  O'Meara,  his  late  Surgeon.  Portrait  of  Napo- 
leon, after  Delaroche,  and  a  view  of  St.  Helena, 
both  on  steel.  2  vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  $2.50;  half  calf  • 
extra,  $5.00. 

Mr.  O'Meara's  works  contains  a  body  of  the  most  interesting  and  valuable  information — 
information  the  accuracy  of  which  stands  ummpeached  by  any  attacks  made  against  its  author. 
The  details  in  Las  Cases'  work  and  those  of  Mr.  O'Meara  mutually  support  each  other. 


NAPIER'S  PENINSULA  WAR.— The  History 
of  the  War  in  the  Peninsula.  By  Major-Gen.  Sir 
W.  F.  P.  Napier.  With  55  maps  and  plans  of  bat- 
tles, 5  portraits  on  steel,  and  a  complete  index.  An 
elegant  Library  Edition.  5  vols.,  8vo,  $7.50  ;  half 
calf,  $18.00. 

Acknowledged  to  be  the  most  valuable  record  of  tbat  war  which  England  waged  against  the 
power  of  Napoleon.  The  most  ample  testimony  has  been  borne  to  the  accuracy  of  the  historian's 
statements,  and  to  the  diligence  and  acuteness  with  which  he  has  collected  his  materials. 

NELL  GWYN,  The  Story  of,  and  the  Sayings  of 
Charles  the  Second,  related  and  collated  by  Peter 
Cunningham,  F.S.A.  With  fine  portrait  and  11 
extra  engravings.  8vo,  cloth  extra,  $3.50. 

An  exceedingly  interesting  memoir  relating  to  the  times  of  Charles  II.  Pepys  in  writing  about 
Nell  Gwyn  called  her  "  Pretty  witty  Nell,"  was  always  delighted  to  see  her,  and  constantly  praises 
her  excellent  acting.  Cunningham  states  that  had  the  King  lived  he  would  have  created  her 
Countess  of  Greenwich,  and  his  dying  wish  to  his  brother,  afterwards  James  II.,  was  :  "Do  not  let 
poor  Nelly  starve." 

PICTURESQUE  IRELAND,  Descriptive  and 
Historical. — Comprising  5o  full-page  engravings  on 
steel  of  its  picturesque  scenery,  remarkable  antiqui- 
ties and  present  aspects,  from  original  drawings  by 
W.  H.  Bartlett,  and  a  complete  account  of  its  cities, 
towns,  mountains,  waters,  ancient  monuments,  and 
modern  structures  by  Markinfield  Addey.  2  vols., 
4to,  cloth  extra,  gilt  edges,  $10.00 ;  or  in  half 
morocco  extra,  gilt  edges,  $20.00. 

These  two  handsome  volumes  will  make  the  reader  better  acquainted  with  the  picturesque 
features  of  the  "  Emerald  Isle  "  than  any  work  that  has  ever  preceded  it.  Only  by  a  combination 
of  both  pen  and  pencil  was  it  possible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  beauty  of  Ireland,  its  marvelous  lakes, 
mountains  and  valleys,  romantic  streams,  mysterious  round  towers,  giant's  causeway,  waterfalls, 
stately  castles,  magnificent  religious  and  public  edifices,  etc.,  etc. 

PURITANS.  History  of  the  Puritans  and  Pilgrim 
Fathers.  By  Professor  Stowell  and  Daniel  Wilson, 
F.S.A.  In  i  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  $1.75. 

Stowell  and  Wilson's  history  is  acknowledged  everywhere  to  be  the  best  and  most  exhaustive 
history  of  the  Pilgrim  fathers.  A  full  and  complete  account  of  the  rise  of  the  Puritans  under  the 
Tudors  to  their  settlement  in  New  England,  which  is  herein  given,  makes  this  a  most  valuable  work 
of  reference  and  study. 


STAUFFER  (Frank  H.).  The  Queer,  The  Quaint, 
The  Quizzical.  A  Cabinet  for  the  Curious.  With 
full  index.  8vo,  cloth  extra,  $1.75. 

"  Oddities  and  wonders. 

Antiquities  and  blunders, 
And  omens  dire ; 

Strange  customs,  cranks  and  freaks, 

With  philosophy  in  streaks" 

are  all  to  be  found  between  the  covers  of  this  book.     It  certainly  is  the  completest  collection  of  odd 
and  curious  events  ever  made. 

TAINE,  H.  A.— History  of  English  Literature. 
Translated  by  H.  Van  Laun,  with  Introductory 
Essay  and  Notes  by  R.  H.  Stoddard.  4  handsome 
volumes.  Cloth,  white  labels,  $7i5o. 

It  is  the  book  on  the  subject,  the  more  wonderful  that,  written  by  a  French  critic,  it  should  be 
accepted  by  English-speaking  people— everywhere — •Ai.the  authority  on  the  literature  of  their  own 
language,  universally  prized  for  its  clearness,  terseness  and  comprehensiveness,  and  yet  as 
interesting  as  a  work  of  fiction. 

THE  APOCRYPHAL  NEW  TESTAMENT, 

Being  all  the  Gospels,  Epistles,  and  Other  Pieces  now 
extant  attributed  in  the  First  Centuries  to  Jesus 
Christ,  His  Apostles  and  their  Companions,  and 
not  included  in  the  New  Testament  by  its  compil- 
ers. Translated  from  the  original  tongues,  and  now 
first  collected  into  one  volume.  With  numerous 
quaint  illustrations,  i  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  red  edges, 
$1.25. 

As  a  literary  curiosity  this  work  has  excited  the  greatest  attention  all  over  the  Christian  world. 
There  is  nothing  in  it  contradictory  of  those  truths  which  have  been  accepted  as  revealed,  but  every 
chapter  and  verse  goes  to  confirm  the  undoubted  writings  of  the  apostles  and  evangelists. 

WALT  WHITMAN.— Leaves  of  Grass.  Original 
edition.  Year  85  of  the  State.  Foolscap  8vo, 
cloth  extra,  $3.75. 

We  offer  here  the  Fine  Original  Edition  of  Whitman's  Poems.  Recognition  of  the  wonderful 
power  and  charm  in  his  rugged  verse  has  been  freely  given  by  all  who  appreciate  the  grand  and 
beautiful  in  poetry.  The  "  Good,  Gray  Poet "  is  gaining  admirers  daily;  his  Leaves  of  Grass  is 
destined  to  live  forever  as  a  representative  classic  of  a  bold  and  rythmic  style  of  versification 
peculiarly  his  own.  . 


WATERS  (Robert).  William  Shakespeare  Por- 
trayed by  Himself.  A  Revelation  of  the  Poet  in 
the  Career  and  Character  of  one  of  his  own 
Dramatic  Heroes.  By  Robert  Waters.  i  vol., 
$1.25. 

In  this  able  and  exceedingly  interesting  book  on  Shakespeare,  the  author  shows  1  ow  the  great 
poet  has  repealed  himself,  his  life,  and  his  character,  besides  refuting  conclusively  the  ciphers  of 
Donnelly  and  other  Baconian  theories.  Altogether  the  best  life  of  Shakespeare,  remarkably  well 
written  in  vigorous  English.  "An  original,  wholesome,  scholarly,  and  plainly  sincere  book  on 
Shakespeare.  It  is  after  all  something  new  about  Shakespeare,  which  Lowell  feared  could  not  be 
said." — E.  C.  STEDMAN. 

WILSON'S  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^E.— The 

Noctes  Ambrosianse,  by  Prof.  Wilson,  J.  G.  Lock- 
hart,  James  Hogg,  and  Dr.  Maginn.  A  revised 
edition,  with  Steel  Portraits,  and  Memoirs  of  the 
authors,  and  copiously  annotated  by  R.  Shelton 
Mackenzie,  D.C.L  6  vols.,  crown  8vo,  including 
"  Christopher  North,"  A  Memoir  of  Prof.  Wilson, 
from  family  papers  and  other  sources.  By  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Gordon.  Cloth  $9.00;  half  calf  $i  8  oo. 

This  series  of  imaginary  conversations  were  supposed  to  have  taken  place  between  Christopher 
North  (Wilson),  the  Ettrick  Sheperd  (Hogg)  and  others  in  the  parlour  ofa  tavern  kept  by  one  Am- 
brose in  Edinburgh,  hence  the  title  Noctes  Ambrosianae.  A  too  literal  interpretation  is  not  to  be 
given  to  the  scene  of  these  festivities,  however,  but  the  true  Ambrose's  must  be  looked  for  only 
in  the  realms  of  the  imagination.  It  is  one  of  the  most  curious  and  original  works  in  the 
English  language,  a  most  singular  and  delightful  outpouring  of  criticism,  politics  and  descriptions 
of  feeling,  character  and  scenery  of  verse  and  prose,  of  eloquence  and  especially  of  wild  fun.  It 
breathes  the  very  essence  of  the  Bacchanalian  revel  of  clever  men.  Prof.  Wilson  is  a  writer  of  the 
most  ardent  and  enthusiastic  genius  whose  eloquence  is  as  the  rush  of  mighty  waters. 

YOUNG  FOLKS'  HISTORY  OF  THE  RE- 
BELLION. By  William  M,  Thayer.  Illustrated. 
4  vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  $5.oo. 


Fort  Sumter  to  Roanoke  Island. 
Roanoke  Island  to  Murfreesboro'. 


Murfreesboro'  to  Fort  Pillow. 
Fort  Pillow  to  the  End. 


A  faithful  history  of  the  late  war,  which  by  its  attractive  presentation  is  especially  adapted  to 
youthful  readers.  Its  narrative  is  full  of  dash  and  adventure,  the  military  events  are  recited  vividly 
and  thrillingly,  it  is  interspersed  with  individual  heroism,  suffering  and  daring,  and  on  the  whole 
renders  a  better  account  of  the  war  and  its  causes  than  any  other  book  that  we  are  acquainted  with. 
The  author's  style  is  perfect  at  all  times,  either  delicate,  pathetic,  or  picturesque,  but  always  in 
sin. pie  language  that  any  young  reader  can  fully  understand. 


CLASSICS  FOR  CHILDREN. 

AESOP'S  FABLES.  New  edition,  profusely  illus- 
trated. 8vo,  cloth,  gilt,  $2.00;  do,,  do.,  full  gilt 
extra,  $2.50. 

.'Esop,  born  in  the  sixth  century  before  Christ,  while  traveling  through  Greece,  recited  himself 
his  home-truths,  which  in  the  shape  of  fables  are  full  of  wisdom  that  will  teach  and  live  forever. 
He  did  not  collect  or  write  them  down,  but  they  were  easily  remembered,  became  universally  pop- 
ular and  were  passed  on  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  from  generation  to  generation. 

ANDERSEN'S  FAIRY  TALES.— By  Hans 
Christian  Andersen.  New  plates,  large,  clear  type, 
handsomely  printed  and  illustrated.  i2mo,  cloth, 
black  and  gold,  $2.00;  do.,  do.,  full  gilt,  $2.50. 

The  most  charming  fairy  tales  of  the  world,  full  of  earnestness,  humor,  pathos,  and  fresh  inven- 
tiveness, written  in  a  sty lecf  carefully  studied  simplicity.  They  have  become  familiar  to  children 
in  all  countries. 

ARABIAN  NIGHTS  ENTERTAINMENTS. 

—New  edition.  Edited  by  E.  O.  Chapman.  Pro- 
fusely illustrated.  8vo,  cloth  extra,  $2.00  ;  do.,  do., 
full  gilt,  $2.50. 

A  very  pleasing  edition,  with  most  attractive  illustrations  of  the  oriental  fairyland  over  which 
Queen  Shehrazad  reigns.  It  is  now  and  always  will  remain  a  classic. 

BARON  MUNCHAUSEN.— The  Life,  Travels, 
and  Extraordinary  Adventures  of.  By  the  Last  of 
his  Family.  i  vol.,  cloth,  gilt,  $2.00;  do.,  do.,  full 
gilt  extra,  $2.50. 

The  original  Munchausen  was  an  officer  in  the  Russian  service,  who  served  against  the  Turks. 
He  told  the  mo  t  extravagant  stories  about  the  campaign  till  his  fancy  completely  got  the  better  of 
his  memory,  and  he  believed  his  own  extravagant  fictions.  The  wit  and  humor  of  these  tales  are 
simply  delightful. 

BOY'S  OWN  BOOK.— A  Complete  Encyclopedia 
of  all  Athletic,  Scientific,  Recreative,  Out-door  and 
In-door  Exercises  and  Diversions.  Beautifully 
illustrated.  Crown  8vo,  cloth,  gilt,  $1.50. 

The  best  present  anyone  can  make  to  bright  boys.  One  ought  always  bear  in  mind  the  adage 
"  all  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy." 


GRIMM'S  FAIRY  TALES. --Translated  by 
Lucy  Crane.  Profusely  illustrated  by  Walter  Crane, 
Wehnert,  and  George  Cruikshank.  8vo,  cloth,  gilt 
extra,  $2.00;  do.,  do.,  full  gilt,  $2.50. 

The  mo-it  entertaining  fairy  stories  ever  written,  singularly  fascinating,  the  delight  of  children, 
young  and  old. 

GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS  for  Children.  Specially 
edited  by  E.  O.  Chapman,  with  over  200  illustra- 
tions, i  vol.,  8vo,  $2.00;  do.,  do.,  full  gilt,  $2.50. 

The  most  original  and  extraordinary  of  all  Swift's  productions.  While  courtiers  and  politicians 
recognized  in  the  adventures  of  Gulliver  many  satirical  allusions  to  the  court  and  politics  of  England, 
the  great  mass  of  readers  saw  and  felt  only  the  wonder  and  fascination  of  the  narrative. 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE  for  Children.— Edited  by 
E.  O.  Chapman,  with  over  170  illustrations,  i  vol., 
8vo,  cloth  extra,  $2.00;  do.,  do.,  full  gilt,  $2.50. 

How  happy  that  this  the  most  moral  of  romances  is  not  only  the  most  charming  of  books,  but 
also  the  most  instructive  ! — Chalmers.  Was  there  ever  anything  written  by  mere  man  that  the 
reader  wished  longer,  except  Robinson  Crusoe. — Dr.  Samuel  Johnson. 


HENTY    SERIES. 

A  TALE    OF  WATERLOO ;    or,  One    of    the 

28th.  By  G.  A.  Henty.  With  full-page  illus- 
trations by  W.  H.  Overend.  i2mo,  cloth  extra, 
$1.50. 

A  boy's  story  which  covers  the  period  of  the  Napoleonic  wars,  and  particularly  describes  the 
Waterloo  Campaign.  It  is  written  in  Mr.  Henty's  best  style,  skillfully  constructed,  highly 
enjoyable  and  full  of  exciting  adventures. 

» 

IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.— The  Adven- 
tures of  a  Westminster  Boy.  'By  G.  A.  Henty. 
With  full-page  illustrations  by  J.  Schonberg. 
i2mo,  cloth  extra,  $1.50. 

"The  story  is  one  of  Mr.  Henty's  best." — Saturday  Review. 

"The  interest  of  it  lies  in  the  way  in  which  the  difficulties  and  perils  Harry  has  to  encounter 
bring  out  the  heroic  and  steadfast  qualities  of  a  brave  nature.  Again  and  again  the  last  extremity 
seems  to  have  been  reached,  but  his  unfailing  courage  triumphs  over  all.  It  is  an  admirable  boy's 
book." — Birmingham  Post. 


